


BATS in SPACE

by anantipodean



Series: BATS in SPACE [1]
Category: DCU - Comicverse, Robin (Comics), Superboy (Comic), Young Justice (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Space, Developing Relationship, F/M, M/M, Project Cadmus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-18
Updated: 2013-04-21
Packaged: 2017-12-08 20:16:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 22,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/765560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anantipodean/pseuds/anantipodean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A covert mission to find Nightwing takes Tim to the penal colony CADMUS; Kon takes him in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Underground.

“It will be difficult,” Bruce had warned. “You will be entirely alone within the caverns. There is nothing in the way of natural light--”

“And everything in the way of natural predators?”

The attempt at levity was not appreciated, and the look Bruce directed at him said as much. “You will not be contending merely with the wildlife which is dangerous, but with the worst of society. CADMUS is a convict planet and the caverns reserved for the worst offenders.”

“You say that as though I’d never set foot on Arkham.”

That did get a smirk. A very slight smirk, but Bruce was pleased with how his charge had acquitted himself during that memorable incident, and they both knew that CADMUS didn’t compare. No one in CADMUS had reason to actively try to kill Tim.

Yet.

Bruce stood, moving to stand by the window. The light from the setting sun outside caught on his silhouette, momentarily outlining him in the same broad strokes the costume afforded him. Unconsciously, Tim sat up straighter in his own chair. It was the Batman talking now.

“Nonetheless, there will be challenges. You will have to navigate this dark netherland in almost entirely radio silence. While your encryptions should safeguard any transmissions, the fact that no one within the caverns save members of the facility itself has the ability to make transmissions will make you an instant target--”

Going over the obvious was Bruce’s way of saying ‘be careful.’

“Likewise, I’ll be keeping my use of tech to the bare minimum, navigating according to the spec maps Oracle managed to acquire before her link with the planet was terminated,” Tim continued. “If discovered, I will pass myself off as one of the convicts using the profile she created for Nightwing that wasn’t used. In either guise, solo-explorer, or convict-miner, I will attempt to gain access to the Facility, follow up on the distress call.”

This was Tim-code for ‘I got this.’

It was hard to be sure when Bruce had not moved a single muscle in his face, but Tim had the impression he was frowning. He had good reason to -- Nightwing had been in the business long enough to know what he was doing, and to do it better than most. Complete radio silence from him was a sign of nothing good.

“No unnecessary chances.”

He was worried. “Yes, Mom.”

Tim considered that he was approaching the situation with the due amount of caution. The situation was grim, and they were all worried about Dick. But even knowing the risk and the urgency of it, he couldn’t help but feel some anticipation at the chance to spread his figurative wings, actually do something.

The reality was different. For one thing, none of the briefing had mentioned the smell.

It was seemingly composed of equal parts sulphur and mould. In the close air of the caverns, it was all-encompassing, pressing in on him. Tim concealed his vehicle under the camouflage tarp, leaving a tracker to help him find it later, and took stock of his surroundings with the bare economy of movement, trying to avoid breathing through his nose. He thought longingly of the filter stowed within the craft. He was trying to travel as lightly as possible, and no miner could afford the luxury of an oxygen filter ... and it wasn’t like he would be there long enough for the air to kill him ...

There was a strange metallic clatter in the far distance. Tim paused trying to make out what it was, but the sound did not repeat. Imagination? Before he’d depowered the ship, he’d scanned to make sure he was alone ...

When it did not repeat after a full ten minutes, Tim shrugged it off and picked up his pack. It was the unfamiliarity of the scenery, nothing more. In a few days, those sounds would be as familiar and readable as the crowds he observed every day in Gotham.

The first day, all he encountered were the noises. Distant echoes that sounded suddenly and then were gone, echoing even more faintly further away. Ghost voices, or more often, just the metallic sound of pick striking stone, and the rumble of rock. There was never any visible cause for the noises, and Tim, following the paths of ancient river beds, many centuries dried and gone, could not feel entirely easy.

The darkness seemed so ever-present, it was hard to know whether the particular part of the cavern he was in was wide or narrow, open for the light he carried to be seen for miles or narrow and confining. Tim knew when he’d been there longer he would be able to read the difference in air pressure and be able to locate himself. Until then, he hugged the wall, letting it guide him towards the area that the facility was located within.

The second day he encountered his first physical sign of life -- a dead body. At one stage it had been covered by a pile of rocks, heaped on top of it with a stick poking out with a hat atop -- clearly a tribute. However, something had come along later, rooting through the stones to scavenge for a meal. The stick was knocked askew, the rocks scattered.

Tim reminded himself that there was no telling how long ago the creature had passed by, but all the same, he had no problems staying vigilant the rest of the day. Or night. It was hard to tell.

The third day, he started hearing his names in the broken murmurs the echoes threw at him. It was his mind playing tricks, nothing more. Tim knew that for a fact, and yet his ears continued to catch murmurs of familiar voices -- he heard Bruce, Alfred, his father, Dick most of all.

He’d thought of loneliness in the usual sense and discounted it because he had been keeping a distance between himself and his peers for years. He wasn’t the type to need people, not the normal way. Knowing that Bruce knew where he was, what he was doing, that was enough for Tim. So he’d discounted loneliness. He hadn’t counted on the mental aspect of simply not being around people.

When he was imagining Steph, Tim realized he needed to occupy his mind and fast.

Fortunately recalculating his path was all the distraction he could have hoped and more. The maps Oracle had managed to get her hands on were the best out there -- and they were merely a guideline to the vast underground expanse that was deceptively called ‘the caverns.’

Tim had thought he was making good progress but his equipment didn’t seem to indicate that he was getting any closer to his intended destination. Charting a new path took most of the rest of the ‘day,’ and Tim repacked his charts and notebook to settled down into his stealth cocoon to sleep with the sinking suspicion that he was very, very lost.

It was some handful of hours later that the distinct sound of an engine woke him.

Tim lay very still. The sound was near, so distinct it could only be real -- and close. Muffled slightly -- there was something in between them. The rocky outcrop he remembered from the charts?

The motor petered out, to be shortly followed by muffled sounds of movement that eventually settled into the strident sound of pick on stone. The sound was immediately picked up and amplified, ricocheting around the cavern like an entire army of picks. No chance of sleeping through that.

Tim spent a couple of minutes trying anyway, his sleep-blurred mind wondering why it was the sound of the pick echoed so obnoxiously while the motor had not reverberated with the same volume. Finally realizing that he was not going to go back to sleep, Tim re-evaluated the situation. Reluctantly, he realized that he had an opportunity to observe the natives of the netherworld, the better for his cover should he need to disguise himself. Compressing his stealth cocoon down, Tim shouldered his pack and made his cautious way toward the sound.

There was a murky light, illuminating the area around a battered looking vehicle. As Tim got closer, he could see the lights were rigged from the vehicle, giving a dim glow that was reflected back by the glassy surface of the rock face. The only noise came from further down the rock face at the edge of the light and Tim crouched low in a hollow, observing from the shadows.

That, at least, was familiar.

It was hard to tell, not with the light so weak and the shadows lurching unpredictably at every movement, but it seemed like there was only the one miner. And from his actions, he was definitely a miner -- the pick was being put to good use. Tim could make out big piles of dully gleaming rock in the wake of the pick. When he returned the pick to the vehicle, taking out a belt hung with what seemed to be smaller tools, Tim got confirmation that the miner was alone.

No convict would be allowed to roam freely, surely -- the information Oracle had gathered hadn’t included anything on the mining methods employed on CADMUS, but that just stood to reason. Even taking tracking bracelets into account, the underground environment was just too volatile to take that sort of risk ... right?

It wasn’t until he wondered who he was trying to convince that Tim realized he was uncertain. Setting himself to study analyse the scene, he watched trying to pinpoint the source of his unease.

Tim had been so long studying what observation could teach you about a person under Bruce’s tutelage that it was by now second nature. In fact, it was so natural a habit that he he was aware before he realized he was aware of it. It was the miner’s voice that prompted the recognition of the fact -- much like Tim had known despite the bulky form obscuring coat or bug-like goggles that the miner was male without knowing that he’d known.

“Yup. Nothing better than hacking away at some rocks. I tell you, it’s always a party down here. Just me and a whole bunch of rock.” 

The voice was too young to be a hardened prison guard. Too young and ... was he really expecting the rocks to answer?

Tim ignored the protest of his muscles and stayed put, trying to work this out. 45 minutes later, he had learned a lot about the miner’s interests, and a very little about the mining processes employed on CADMUS. Tim, frankly, was baffled.

Some prisons allowed prisoners freedom of autonomy, sure -- usually to pretty good effect. But that was as part of a strictly monitored rehabilitation programme. Again, the miner’s youth counted against him here -- nothing about him said ‘result of years of retraining in being a responsible citizen.’ It said quite a lot of ‘thrown in at the deep end,’ ‘bored’ and ‘clearly out of his depth.’

Still, knowing the basics of the mining process employed by the prisoners and that he could not expect the CADMUS colony to follow accepted prison protocols would be useful should he need to use it as cover later--

There was a slight movement of air above his head.

Tim rolled to one side instinctively. He would have made it, but his limbs were stiff with inactivity and gave way at the crucial moment. He threw up an arm blindly, and that was all that stopped the claws of the thing connecting with his head.

Animal then. One of the natural predators Bruce had warned him about. Tim fought to keep his head clear, using both legs to kick out at his attacker, but he couldn’t make contact. He didn’t know what it was -- he couldn’t even see it.

Focus! Tim couldn’t tug his right arm free so he scrabbled for his taser with his left. He jerked his torso inwards, just in time to feel the thing lunge where he was, hear something ominously sharp strike the rock -- a beak? It had attacked from above--

And then there was all the light Tim could have asked for, and he saw the thing illuminated briefly by the fireball that enveloped it, talons digging deeper into his arm in reflexive pain. Tim winced away from both the heat and the light and was finally able to free himself as the thing’s grip gave way to jerky spasms. He scrabbled backwards for a good three metres before the rock at his back told him he’d made it as far as he could, watching the as the bird -- leathery wings like an over-sized bat, and beak and talons that would not have been out of place on the flying dinosaurs still preserved in the museums of Gotham -- shuddered in on itself with a last ghastly cry,almost indistinguishable now from the flames that consumed it. It was only the fact that its body had been between Tim and the fireball that had protected him--

The crunch of a foot on stone to his left reminded Tim too late that he was not alone with the bird.

“Sorry about that,” the Miner said without a hint of apology in his voice. “Didn’t see you there.”

The foot planted on Tim’s chest was firm enough to hurt. He hissed in pain but knew better than to try to move -- enough light shone from the burning bird to outline very clearly the bulk of the flame thrower resting casually in the miner’s hand.

His taser was brushed out of his reach by the side of the miner’s boot -- thick leather with heavy soles, Tim was unlikely to be able to hurt him through those -- and then the flame-thrower was distractingly close to Tim’s face as the miner knelt, knee in Tim’s chest continuing to make sure he couldn’t move.

“What are you--”

“Don’t get excited.” Balancing the flame-thower with one arm, the miner patted Tim down with his second.

Tim winced, bracing himself as the utility belt was found. He’d have one chance--

“Vult’s enough surprise for one day without ... What even--”

Self-defence mechanism on the belt triggered. Tim’s eyes were screwed shut, but the scent of magnesium and the lifting of the pressure on his chest told him that both the explosion of light and electric shock had been effective. One sharp kick tipped the miner off-balance, and an elbow to the back ensured that he went down. The second kick to the head was probably unnecessary, but the knee in his chest had hurt.

Tim’s fingers closed around his taser and he half slip, half slid down the slope to where he’d left his pack. Shouldering it he set off at a quick pace through the dark, trusting to memory to guide him. After about fifteen minutes of pure adrenalin, concentrating on getting distance between himself and the miner, Tim stopped running. He picked his way as lightly as possible through the pockmarked cavern surface, senses straining for the sound of pursuit, at the same time, keeping a mental alert out for any good hiding places.

The same rocky outcrops that had made navigating so hard yesterday would be ideal to lose a pursuer in, and Tim navigated through them. There were slight noises, but nothing that sounded certainly of pursuit.

Better safe than sorry, Tim decided, and kept moving.

It was hard to judge how much time passed, with his mind racing into overtime. At least half an hour before Tim stopped for a rest. By now, his arm was throbbing with pain. A brief exploration with his fingers indicated that the creature -- the miner had referred to it as a vult, possibly short for ‘vulture’? -- had penetrated his suit and the deep cut was still bleeding sluggishly.

Deciding to chance it, Tim found himself a concealed shelter between two columns of rock, and peeled back his suit to administer first-aid. There was a distant sound, like paper rustling. His ears playing tricks on him?

Tying off the bandage, Tim listened carefully to be sure that it wasn’t the miner tracking him. The sound repeated, just as incongruous, if closer. Paper being flapped in the wind? But there wasn’t any wind in the caverns and instead of paper--

Wings.

Grimly, Tim pulled his suit back on. He would not be taken by surprise this time -- but that was no comfort when he was so unprepared. Following the self-defence mechanism being triggered, his belt was locked down, and to free his staff would take precious minutes that he didn’t have to spare. They were circling him, at least three of them, waiting for the chance to--

And with a hideous screech that was part crow, part nails on blackboard, the first of the vults swooped in. Tim ducked out of the way of it’s gaping claws, caught it on the underbelly with the taser as it swooped by. The second one almost clipped him again, but he managed to side step, feeling its leathery wing brush his cheek. He caught the third one on the full with the taser, but instead of having the expected effect the vult staggered back and recovered itself to launch into the air with an angry shriek.

The taser was damaged? Possibly needed to recharge--

Tim backed towards the rocky tunnels. His best chance was to get somewhere with so much jutting out rock that the birds couldn’t swoop down at him. Before he could act on his plan, however, the birds swooped again and it was all Tim could do to keep up with the barrage of claws and beaks. Think, he reminded himself. Bruce didn’t train you to become food for an assortment of prehistoric throwbacks. They might not be what you’re used to fighting, but they’re vulnerable to the laws of motion all the same--

“Duck. In five.”

And that was just wrong because not only did they look nothing like ducks, but there were plainly three of them and--

There was the faint click of the flame-thrower being readied.

Right, Tim thought, throwing himself groundward and throwing his good arm over his head. I knew that.

Then it was just blinding light, the nightmarish screeches of the birds and heat so intense that Tim was pretty sure that the hairs on the back of his neck were singed. Better them than me, Tim thought, shouldering any pity. He was still in trouble -- potentially more trouble than the birds.

As soon as he judged it safe to uncurl, he did so, gauging his physical condition as he stood. He’d come off the worst in any fight, but he could still make a good run for it if he had to. “So--”

The light of the fire illuminated the miner’s smirk. It was the only part of his face visible, eyes obscured by thick, bug-like goggles, and a hat that seemingly incorporated both a helmet and ear flaps. “Vults can smell human blood from miles away. Figured that you weren’t going to get far with a wound and being such a giving, generous sort of guy, I decided to look for you.”

So the knee had been an added bonus? “Too kind.”

“You’re welcome. Don’t take this the wrong way, but it’s pretty obvious you’re new here.” To add insult to injury, the miner shouldered the flame-thrower with unconcern, turning away from Tim. “So yeah. Coming?”

“With you?”

The shrug said it all, the miner not looking back. “Your choice, but it’s me or the vults and yeah, you’re not getting any less tired.”

He unfortunately had a point. Tim pocketed his taser and stood.

The walk back took place in silence. Tim had time to come up with three different escape scenarios, and answer to the questions he anticipated he’d be asked, and still learn something new -- once the miner was sure that Tim was following him, he’d pulled a small globe from his pocket, paused a moment to enter a few coordinates and let it go. It had turned out to be a floating light that hovered a few metres overhead, making its way back towards the miner’s vehicle. Preset with a tracking setting, and equipped with some sort of radar to enable it to avoid the cavern roof and adjust its path for any columns of rock.

The miner walked just on the periphery of the circle of light it shed, and after a moment’s consideration, Tim did the same. Avoiding walking in the light meant that anyone out there in the shadows would not be able to judge how many were in their group or what their condition was, while still allowing them to make faster progress than walking in the dark would. It was a useful gadget to have in the dark caverns and Tim made a mental note to mention it to Bruce.

Finally they reached the miner’s vehicle. On closer inspection it was an ex-military ground crawler, stripped of weapons and outfitted for the caverns in a distressingly cavalier way, undoubtedly violating at least three electricians guild protocols, not to mention basic health and safety. Maybe his companion had been jailed for failure to abide by public standards for mechanical safety?

Slim hope, Tim decided as the door was slid open and the miner indicated with a jerk of his head that Tim was to enter first.

The interior was a crime in itself. The partition between the storage part of the vehicle and the front had been brought forward so there was barely enough room to squeeze the past the sleeping couch to the driver’s and passenger’s seat. The over-full storage lockers bulged with an assortment of laundry, junk, while a single sink and heating element on a shelf against the far wall comprised both kitchen and bathroom.

Worse than the visual clutter was the smell. Tim hadn’t thought it possible to acclimatize to the caverns’ odor, but he found himself thinking with longing of the air they’d just left.

“Home sweet home. Take a seat on the bed and--”

“You live in this?”

Tim had blurted out the words unthinkingly. He knew at once that had been a mistake. As close as the air inside the vehicle was, it still managed to get a few degrees frostier.

“I mean--”

“Sit.” The miner shouldered past him roughly, giving Tim little choice but to comply. He tugged something out of one of the lockers and tossed it to his increasingly reluctant guest. “You’re new. It’s cool.”

It was pretty obviously not cool, but Tim turned his attention to the object he’d caught. A first aid kit. He’d already bandaged his wound, but after his misstep, he wasn’t going to worsen the situation by refusing help. Besides it would be good to see what the wound looked like in the light.

Well -- relative light.

Even inside the vehicle, the one source of light was set to dim. Once his companion had extinguished the travelling light globe, there was only just enough light to discern the outlines of things, a few of their dimensions, but an activity like reading was right out. Interestingly, his companion didn’t seem to think this warranted explanation. Standard practice? It made some sense. The light was clearly fed from the vehicle’s engine, so in the interests of conserving power, a dim light was best.

That such excessive means of power economy were necessary however --

“Vult got you good. With how far you made it, I didn’t figure you could be that badly hurt.”

The voice was a lot gruffer than Tim had first heard it, haranguing the rocks outside.

“If I’d known how good I probably wouldn’t have got as far myself,” Tim admitted, and was rewarded with a laugh that confirmed his suspicions -- relaxed the other sounded younger, about Tim’s age. Clearly, he was trying to put on a front, appear older, more experienced than he was.

“Pure adrenalin? That explains it. No way a noob could have got that far otherwise.”

Tim had to remind himself that being underestimated would only benefit him later. “Guess I owe you.”

“You definitely do. So -- how’d you end up out here with no gear anyway?” The miner lent back against the driver’s seat, watching Tim.

Suddenly the dim light seemed a definite advantage. Tim looked down, concentrating on the wound. It needed stitches, but he didn’t want to trust to the sterility of his companion’s needles. It’d do okay without, so long as he rested his arm. “Well, like you pointed out, I’m new.”

“Obviously.”

Resting his arm meant not starting fights.

“So, I’m still getting used to this whole ... mining ... thing. And this guy offers to show me the ropes. And he seems okay, so we head out here and--” Tim produced a rueful grimace. “Turns out that ‘okay’ was a massive over-estimation, and I’ll spare you the details but we had what you could call a ‘falling out’ and he took my gear as collateral to keep me around. Thing is, I don’t exactly take being manipulated well--”

“Dude,” his companion interrupted. “You have no idea how lucky you are.”

Lucky was right. Tim paused, trying to read his companion’s reaction. He’d hit on a story that worked?

“Manipulation’s kind of par for the course around here. ‘Specially when you’re new -- forgetting making it on your own in the dark. You’re lucky he stopped at just taking your stuff.”

A prison system where inmates’ behaviour went unmoderated and unchecked? “I don’t feel very lucky.”

“You’ll learn. Incidentally, you got a name?” His companion stretched, abandoning his seat to start poking through the cans on the shelf above the heating element.

“Alvin. Alvin Draper.”

Silence.

Had he somehow managed to insult his companion again? Worse, had Dick been using the manufactured identity after all? “Is something wrong?”

“You have no idea. Look -- don’t take this the wrong way or anything, but ... From now on, you’re going to be ‘Draper,’ okay?”

Tim had thought he was going to a penal colony, not high school and very nearly said as much. He collected himself at the look his companion gave him however. “What’s your name?”

“Kon.”

“Not short for convict.”

“Not short for convict. Look, you finish fixing yourself up.” Evidently having made a decision on which can to choose, Kon dumped the water in the saucepan already on the element out, fishing a spoon out of the sink. “I’m going to make us dinner. Tomorrow, I’ll show you how to pick, and then you’ll have a better chance of hooking up with someone decent when we go back to Base.”

The flame thrower had been left beside the driver’s chair. Tim had the opportunity to snatch it, make a run for it. He decided against it. Although clearly lacking in certain areas, Kon’s concern appeared to be genuine. Not to mention that the more Tim learned about the world he inhabited, the more certain he was that he needed more. More knowledge, more equipment, and most importantly of all, a better map. He had no idea how close he even was to the Rim, if he was near the Rim at all.

Also, Tim was morbidly curious about ‘dinner.’

“Where are we anyway?” he asked as he pulled the bandage tight. “I mean, I thought I had a vague idea where I was going but I don’t know ...”

“Sector 72-E,” Kon said immediately. “Figure we could have been in G when I finally caught up with you. You don’t mind eating out of the can, right? I mean, I’ve only got the one saucepan so.”

It was for Dick, Tim reminded himself. Dick who was in probable mortal peril. “The can is fine. How do you know where one sector begins and another ends?”

Kon paused. “I just do,” he said after a moment. “Jim showed me on a map once. I guess it stuck. _Et voila. Le_ dinner is _le_ served.”

Tim surprised himself by eating all of dinner. Sure, he’d eaten a lot better -- a lot, lot better -- but even if it hadn’t been obvious that Kon had opened the second can specifically on behalf of his guest, the dried space meals, while nutritionally superior, still didn’t compare to real food.

Even when that real food was corned beef and peas and even when he had to eat it with a knife.

“You probably gathered I’m more used to running a solo show here.”

“I appreciate you letting me stay,” Tim said. “And taking me to Base.”

“Yeah, well. I kind of have to. You got me at the tail end of a run. Don’t have the supplies to stay out more than a few more days at most, but with you along for the ride we can’t really wait.”

“Is that okay? I mean, you won’t wind up short mining-wise--”

Tim could see his own reflection in the goggles as Kon looked at him a long moment. “It’s cool. I got it -- been up near the Rim.”

“The Rim?”

“It’s pretty deep. Not many people want to go there. But it’s pretty easy if you can hack the journey. Better still, no one there to bother you. Which is a good thing when it’s just you.”

Tim nodded slowly. It had just occurred to him that there was one bed, and no place to set up a sleeping mat on the floor.

Sleeping was every bit the ordeal he’d anticipated. Due to his injured arm, there was really only one side that Tim could sleep on. However, Kon refused to surrender the side of the bed that would have allowed Tim the more privacy to sleep.

“I see your point. But I worked too hard to get this ship to take any chances on letting her get stolen out from under me. I’m taking the non-wall side, and I’m letting you know now, you won’t be able to get out of bed without waking me, so don’t even think about it. Night.”

The only interest Tim had in Kon’s ship was how to get it scrapped before it did anyone lasting harm. “We could try sleeping in shifts.”

“Yeah, no. I want you where I can feel you move.”

As Tim had feared. “Reassuring.”

“Could be worse. I could have left it at ‘feel you.’”

That would have been worse. “Night.”

Whether out of habit, or thought for his guest’s ease of mind, Kon had opted to sleep in all but the thick outer coat and his boots. Tim was by now used to sleeping in his suit, and he had to admit that the mattress, while showing a distressing inclination to sag in the middle, was more comfortable that rocks.

Rocks, on the other hand, did not possess body odour. Tim forced himself to breathe through his nose. He wasn’t able to stop from wondering whether the smell clung to the clothes or would have been worse had Kon taken his shirt off. “Just how long does it take you to get to the Rim anyway?”

“Takes me week and a half to get there and the same back. That’s leaving time for mining. Straight travelling you could get there in a few days if you wanted, I guess. Why so curious?”

That was three weeks at least without a shower. “No reason.”

It would be, at most, 48 hours. He could go 48 hours without using his nose.

Not surprisingly, Tim struggled to sleep. His arm ached, the smell intruded, and everytime Kon moved in his sleep, the sagging mattress brought them closer together. Eventually, Tim couldn’t stand it any longer. Despite Kon’s warning about waking up, Tim decided he desperately needed some fresh air.

Well, comparatively fresher anyway. Tim wondered at how quickly he could have become accustomed to the caverns’ smell so much that it seemed comparatively negligible. He stayed out relishing the ability to breathe until he found himself starting to feel tired. Then he braved the vehicle again.

In his absence, Kon had gravitated towards the centre of the mattress. Tim snorted, as Kon didn’t so much as stir at the shutting of the door behind him. So much for being on full alert.

He paused, speculatively. Although, if Kon had managed to sleep through Tim moving over him to get off the mattress, just maybe he would sleep through being pushed back so that Tim could take the edge. It was a risk, granted. And Bruce had said no unnecessary risks.

Any risk that allowed Tim the continued use of his lungs, however, was absolutely necessary. Bracing himself, he hoisted one edge of the mattress to roll Kon further into the middle, then quickly inserted himself into the resulting space, shouldering some of the blanket away from the miner.

Mission success.


	2. Base.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim's looking for some answers; Kon just wants some action. Base promises both of those -- but things do not go according to either of their plans.

If anything, Kon’s expression the next morning made it even more of a success. Tim ate pork and beans out of his can, trying and failing to look repentant. “We both slept well. And I somehow managed to restrain myself from stealing your ship. What’s there to complain about?”

“My ship, my rules, Draper,” Kon grumbled. “It’s the principle.”

He sulked until he remembered Tim’s complete ignorance of all things mining and mining related, and set out how to teach him how not to be a completely obvious noob.

“Okay, so you got two basic types of work in mining. Three actually, but there’s not really any profit in specializing in scouting, so cracking and picking it is.”

“Cracking and picking.”

“Look, I didn’t come up with this, okay? It’s just how it is.” Kon was balancing his pick across his shoulders, hands resting at either end. It was a vicious looking instrument, pick too similar to the beaks of the vults for Tim’s comfort and he decided he should probably try to avoid antagonizing the guy holding a weapon very capable of damage.

Even if he did sleep in goggles and possessed a body odour that probably classified as a weapon all on its own.

“By all means. Continue.”

“Okay. So what I did yesterday with this?” Kon nodded towards the pick. “Cracking. Just breaking the rock down so you can come back and pick through it. There’s no real skill to it, you just gotta be strong and have a certain amount of stamina. Of the two jobs, it’s the more physically demanding, so the cracker’s generally got more power than the picker.”

“Power? In what sense?”

“All the senses, I guess. I mean, cracker gets bigger share of the profits, so the cracker generally owns his own vehicle, which means he makes all the calls about the run. Picker gets to decide which cracker he’s going to work for, but that’s about it.” Kon paused. “When we get to Base, you’ll want to ask around about cracker’s with good reputations for being decent to their pickers. Maybe even track down the previous picker if you can. Like you already found out, it’s pretty hard to find a partner you can trust out in the dark.”

The names might be stupid, but his companion was perfectly serious. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“I mean it. You really, really want to do your research first.”

“I’ll ask around.”

“Do it. And do a really, really good job of it.”

“Kon,” Tim said slowly. “Is there something you’re trying to tell me?”

To his surprise, his companion winced, putting the pick down. “Seriously. It’s like I’m babysitting an actual infant here. Okay, Draper, here’s the thing. Most crackers will just want to have sex with you. But there’s some out there that are actual certified psycopaths, and yeah, you want to be setting out all alone into the unknown with the former and definitely not the latter. Is it clear now or do I have to break it down even further?”

This was --

This was bordering on Arkham level wrong.

“The guards,” Tim said. “They--”

“Don’t come down here. Why would they? Unless Waller’s there in person holding their hands for them, they’re too terrified to come down here, and that’s only because they’re more scared of her than they are of us.”

“But--”

“Someone doesn’t check in long enough, they get marked off as ‘dead.’ Since there’s no autopsy to say otherwise, it’s generally assumed to be natural causes. Waller signs off on it, and that’s the end of that.”

“Shouldn’t people be checking in on this? Independent enquiries, that sort of thing--”

“It’ll make sense once you get to Base,” Kon said, setting down the pickaxe and picking up a smaller, finer pick. “Now. Picking.”

Picking consisted rather predictably, of chipping off the hard, outer stone to separate it from the smoother stone within. It was hard for Tim to make out the difference between them by sight, until Kon showed him how light did not seem to reflect back off the surface of the stone that was their goal.

“I’ll turn the light up for you today, just so you can try and get a feel for it,” Kon said. “When you get used to it, you can do it without a light entirely.”

Tim hesitantly went to work with a spare small-pick that Kon had fortunately had on hand. “Can you do it without a light?”

“Nah, I’m not that good. But I think I’m getting better at chipping angels by touch--” He caught himself belatedly.

“Angels?” Tim said.

“Shoot. Okay. You’re not going to like this either but -- geez. Okay, so before CADMUS moved in, this planet was civilised, right? Well, once civilised, but ages and ages ago. Something obviously went very wrong ‘cause the surface is unlivable and has been for years, right? Maybe its ore like centuries, I dunno. Anyway. Planet obviously untenable for all but scientific interests, so no one really cares that CADMUS takes it and they set up shop underground and it’s all going great and then they make contact. With the survivors.”

Kon was right about Tim not liking this. “You said unlivable.”

“The surface. They’re down here like us. Except well -- I guess the end of your civilisation kind of does a number on your worldview and they’re all crazy religious fanatics. Apparently -- contact is usually limited to them trying to kill us. But rumour around Base is that some of the CADMUS scientists made long enough contact prior to the start of the mining operation to figure out the basics of their language and society and their word for these? Translated, it basically comes out as ‘angel.’ Pretty much, they figure these are the souls of their dead.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“I wish I were kidding you. On the plus side, they’re usually more interested in dying in battle with you than actually winning, so should you get attacked by a party of them, you got pretty good chances.”

“Providing my partner is not actively trying to murder me either.”

“That too.”

“I may need a moment.”

Tim left a palpably nervous Kon to go and glare at the darkness. This was -- unacceptable. Absolutely unacceptable. The individual atrocities perpetrated daily in Arkham were sickening enough, but for the CADMUS colony to continue spoke of a conspiracy to silence that was somehow even more disgusting.

Also unacceptable -- not completing his mission as planned. In fact, the success of Tim’s task was even more essential now. If he failed, there would be no one to report on this to Bruce, see that the strings were pulled to have CADMUS exposed.

“Hey. Ah -- are you all right? I mean, maybe it was a lot all at once, and you--”

“I’m fine. I was just wondering -- can I have a go with the pick-axe? The big one I mean.”

“The big one? Well -- yeah, I guess, but I’m warning you it’s pretty heavy--”

“Good,” Tim said. “That’s exactly what I want.”

Not being able to see what he was hitting didn’t detract entirely from the feeling of hitting. By the time Tim felt ready to surrender the pickaxe back to Kon, he was feeling his usual focused self again.

It also had the added bonus of keeping Kon unusually quiet the rest of the day and ensured that Tim got the edge of the bed without having to argue for it.

It did not last out the night.

Tim woke to the shaking of the vehicle. “We’re on the way back to Base?” he asked, stretching as he sat.

“You finally awake? Yeah, I got tired of waiting for you to start. Breakfast’s on the element still.” Kon had the interior lights off to drive, but Tim was familiar enough with the vehicle by now to find the kitchen by touch and take his breakfast to the passenger seat.

“I slept that long?”

“Figured you needed it. I mean, you wouldn’t know it by how you carried on yesterday, but you are healing an injury, remember?”

Tim lifted his right arm gingerly and was rewarded by a stab of pain. Yeah, that had probably not been the smartest idea in retrospect. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. Man -- it’s going to be great getting back to Base.”

Kon was clearly looking forward to their destination. Tim ate breakfast slowly -- refried beans and corn? They were clearly nearing the end of Kon’s supplies -- and wondered how he’d managed to sleep through the other’s commentary on the road. Or cooking. Or even starting the ground crawler moving at all.

Despite knowing nothing about Base except for the little he’d gleaned from Kon, Tim had somehow formed expectations. Those expectations mainly centred around there being people and light. As Kon carefully maneuvered the ground crawler into parking space between two similarly decrepit vehicles, Tim had to time to gauge the accuracy of his assumptions.

“The Weighing Station. I’m going to grab our number. Wait here with the ship.”

From not being trusted not to steal Kon’s shipwreck to being left alone in it? Tim raised an eyebrow, but he wasn’t sorry for the opportunity to observe from behind the windshields of the ground crawler.

Regardless of what Kon had said about there not being prison authorities present in the caverns, there were traces in the Weighing Station of their presence. The floodlights were the main ones, giving daylight-like clarity to the area around both the large warehouses where the business of weighing took place and a circular tower that seemingly reached all the way up to the top of the cavern, ringed with barbed wire, electric wires and a hazy indistinctness around it that probably indicated a forcefield -- clearly the lift to the surface.

After so long in the shadows, Tim found the brightness somehow disconcerting. It seemed he wasn’t alone in that feeling. The miners that walked in and out of the building or passed Tim in the ground crawler either moved quickly and furtively with the attitude of rats returning to the safety of their holes as they made their way back into the darkness, or swaggered with a little bit too much obviousness, trying to project a confidence they didn’t feel. Clothing was generally utilitarian, lots of military surplus, denim and leather, and typically well worn, with patches and tears. Tim suspected some of them of being created by design rather than necessity, and amused himself with the thought that some of the convicts’ apparel was not that dissimilar to the steampunk look favoured by some of his fellow students.

“Our lucky day! Business is quiet, we can take her in now.” Kon was a swaggerer -- no surprises there. Tim smirked as he stretched, testing the ease of movement of his right arm. This was yet another unknown situation, and he wanted to know he could move quickly.

But the situation developed faster than he’d anticipated. Kon was unbuckling the thick leather straps that held his over-sized great coat together and shrugging it off, and before Tim quite knew what was happening the coat was being held only inches away from his face with no chance to duck.

“Here. You can take this.”

Take it and do what with it -- surely not wear it? Tim hesitated.

“It’s a coat, not a -- just take it for fuck’s sake.” Kon didn’t give Tim a choice, shoving the garment at him. “Look, I don’t know who you were or where you were from before this place, but none of that counts down here and the sooner you get your head around that the better.”

Okay, clearly Tim had crossed some line without realizing. “I didn’t mean anything--”

“And cut it out with that polite crap. I don’t know if you think you’re better than me or just don’t like me, but if you don’t want to stand out like a freaking sore thumb out there, you will wear the coat.” It was impossible to make out expression behind those goggles, but body language plainly indicated glaring. “And something over your eyes. Thought of you walking around naked out there with no idea of who anyone is freaks me out.”

Tim winced. He had not done as good a job of hiding his disgust as he’d thought. “Can I apologize for the polite crap, or will that annoy you even more?”

“I give up. Look -- just try not to get horribly murdered okay?”

Kon slammed the door behind him, but from the way that the ground crawler’s boot was angrily wrenched open moments later, Tim had a pretty good idea of where he was. He let out a breath slowly, pinching his nose.

That had been -- a surprise.

Tim was not a big fan of surprises, especially not on missions. He told himself that he was irritated by his failure to see it coming, not at Kon because being mad at someone who was trying, however ineptly, to help you was obviously self-defeating.

Obviously.

Still, Kon had hit on one thing that had been bothering Tim. His current wardrobe left a lot to be desired in terms of cover. His khaki pants and boots had picked up enough dirt to look the part, but his belt was obviously too new and too advanced tech to pass as normal, while Tim’s black stealth suit hugged his torso with a closeness not replicated in any of the clothing he’d seen passing by the ground crawler.

Kon’s coat would look ridiculous on Tim, but no more ridiculous than some of the outfits he’d seen pass by. Clothing in the caverns seemed to be chosen to try and project an intended image, give as little of the person underneath away as possible. Tim paused. Was that what Kon had meant by ‘naked’?

Come to think of it, he’d not even taken the goggles off to sleep--

Much against his better judgement, Tim rummaged through the litter on the floor of the vehicle. He was pretty sure he’d seen something that looked like goggles -- there. One lens was cracked, but that was fine. Gave added plausibility to Tim’s costume.

As for the rest of it--

Kon was supervising an automated collection bot, a sort of glorified trailer that scooped the mined angels out of the boot like a larger scale vacuumn cleaner. Leaned against the edge of his vehicle, he had his back to Tim, but it was apparent simply from the line of his shoulders that he was still nursing his anger. Tim paused, weighing his approach.

Perhaps he should have reconsidered wearing the coat. Sure, Kon practically lived in the garment, but this was the second time Tim had seen him without it, and it was only now he took the time to study Kon that the illusion of bulk suggested by the coat was shattered. Tim was forced to make yet another mental readjustment. Kon was broad, but the broad of someone still growing. In stark contrast to the messiness of his vehicle and general lifestyle, there was nothing sloppy or unnecessary in the silhouette Tim found himself confronted with. 

“Your coat.” Tim held it out.

Kon knocked roughly aside with his hand as he turned. “Don’t--” he started.

He didn’t finished.

Tim continued to hold the coat out, hoping that the goggles, cracked as they were, masked his own expression the same way Kon’s made it impossible to gauge his. “It’s just not going to work on me. You’re broader, taller. On me, it’s too obvious.” He shrugged, trying to project confidence in the thick, shaggy vest he’d found at the bottom of Kon’s wardrobe. “I don’t know what it was died in this, but it fits.” Tim paused. “That is if you don’t mind me borrowing it.”

Kon snorted, mouth an amused flicker and Tim felt a weight lifted. “You’re something, Draper,” he said, casually shouldering his coat back on. “Okay. So once this is loaded, we got time to kill. You can start on that research I told you about.”

Once the trolleybot had trundled off with it’s load, Kon had got down to his typical return to Base routine, throwing every piece of clothing on the floor of the ground crawler onto the bed, and then gathering up blankets and sheets into a bundle.

“Laundromat?”

“Shower,” Kon informed him haughtily. “It’s going to take two, possibly three hours for the weighing to be done and our tokens be there to collect. We got more than enough time to kill.”

Shower sounded promising indeed, and Tim was encouraged to tag along behind Kon and his load to a barracks style building. It was close enough to the Weighing Station that Tim guessed that Kon’s habit was a typical one for CADMUS miners. Before he could follow Kon into the shower block, however, the miner cut him off.

“You might want to hold off on the bathing,” he told Tim, casually adjusting his hold on the laundry pile. “At least until you’ve got a cracker lined up.” He smirked. “Some pickers even find that cultivating a strong enough body odour can make a cracker think twice about having a go.”

Tim raised an eyebrow. “You’re taking a shower,” he pointed out.

“Three things. One. I’m planning on getting laid. Two. Own my ship, meaning I don’t gotta worry about any of that crap. Three. Did I mention I was getting laid? ‘Cause I totally am.” Kon grinned at Tim’s non-expression. “Go on, take a look around Base, get a feel for the place.”

Base was like someone had crossed a fictional Western town with the planet Vegas. The floodlights didn’t stretch far enough to incorporate the town, but Tim got the impression of rackety wooden buildings supporting an excess of flashing neon light. Signs spelled out with varying degrees of accuracy the wares on offer or the names of the establishments, and Tim made his way down the street, wondering where to start.

‘Gurls Gurls Gurls’? Or ‘Booze & Gurls’? Maybe he should start with a place that actually bothered with a name. ‘Wild Bill’s’ or the ‘Not a Chance Saloon’? Or he could go with appropriateness and try ‘The Tombstone’ or--

Tim paused to give the sign that had caught his attention a second look. No, he was reading it correctly. Against all laws of probability, the garishly flashing lights plainly spelled out ‘Zeno’s Paradoxes.’ Surely not a reference to the Greek Philosopher?

Intrigued despite his better judgement, Tim went inside.

Even the interiors of miner’s buildings tended to be dimly lit, but Tim was growing to appreciate that. It meant one wasn’t left as exposed to attack from the street, and added credence to the images its inhabitants wanted to project. Tim took a seat quietly at an empty table, observing his fellow patrons, wondering how successful that illusion could be if everyone in the Caverns used it.

The conversations taking place were mostly mining related, using a jargon that Tim was beginning to learn from Kon. He applied himself to listening, trying to get a feel for his next step. He was interrupted from his thoughts by a stout glass pint mug being placed in front of him.

“I didn’t order--”

The waitress cut him off. Like the other serving staff and select parts of the establishment, her clothing was decorated with reflective studs and bands that glittered in the dim light, but didn’t illuminate her face. “Draper, right? You’re new. We know.”

Kon? But how on earth had he had time to tell them? “News travels fast, I see. Thank you.”

“Thank Micky. He’s the owner.” The waitress jerked her head towards the bar where a broad shouldered man was wiping his hands on a cloth. He returned Tim’s nod with one of his own, turning back to the customer seated at the bar. He’d have to speak to him later, Tim decided. Thank him for the drink and ask about the name of the place. “Kon. Is he -- where is he?”

As if he’d needed the confirmation of who had been talking about him. “The showers.”

“Oh yeah.” The waitress snorted but she appeared strangely mollified, tossing the blonde lock she’d been fingering over her shoulder with a snort. “Bet he thinks he’s going to get laid.”

She was gone to the next table before Tim could figure out an appropriate response. Deciding it wasn’t his problem what happened to Kon’s plans, he took a cautious sip of his drink.

Instead of the tepid beer he was expecting, Tim encountered something an awful lot less alcoholic, and a lot more chicken-y. And soupy. There were things in it that might have been real vegetables--

Tim decided that he might like Micky.

When he’d finished his soup, and thought he’d gleaned all he was likely to from the surrounding conversation, Tim made his way to the bar, setting his empty pint mug down. “Good soup.”

“One of the house specialities,” Micky said, nodding towards a waifish figure talking to a table of miners. “Tekka took a couple of semesters of nutrition, insisted we try it.”

... nutrition. Possibly the last word Tim was expecting to hear used in a rogue penal colony. “That is a reference to the Greek Philosopher, isn’t it.”

“I liked the irony.” Micky’s expression mellowed with something that could have been approval. “So. Kid tells us you’re looking for a cracker.”

“Yeah.” Tim launched into his carefully planned story and Micky nodded thoughtfully.

“Most crackers don’t like to let word get out of them being soft,” he said. “Give the wrong impression and next thing you know, someone’s trying to steal your takings out from under you. But I may know a few people who fit your bill.”

“Any of those likely to head to the Rim?” Tim asked casually.

Mick paused. “Rim’s not usually travelled territory. Especially not for the type of run you’re looking for. There’s a few -- The Scavenger goes regularly, but he’s not one for company. King Shark’s the wrong kind of company--”

“Definitely the wrong kind of company,” the waitress agreed, leaning against the bar. “He’s not looking for a partner so much as a snack.”

“You might have luck persuading one of the South-end Squad to go out of their way, but unless you’re willing to bankroll the risk, you’re probably out of luck. Best set your sights a little closer to home for now,” Micky advised him.

Strange that they both clearly knew Kon, well enough to know his preferences for the Rim, and didn’t mention him. Tim decided not to push further -- for the moment. He had the strangest feeling of being watched.

Well, that wasn’t that strange. Newcomers in this sort of environment were bound to be a source of interest. Tim turned slightly away from the bar, saw at least three faces turned in his direction.

“So,” he said. “Tell me about those crackers you mentioned.”

Micky and the waitress, ‘Serl’, gave Tim a pretty good description idea of three potential partners and where he was most likely to find them -- it seemed that miner society was pretty fluid, people constantly coming and going. No big surprises there -- without any order imposed, the miners pretty much moved at the dictate of their wallets. Hit Base, restock on supplies then blow the remainder of their earnings on the entertainments that Base offered. The majority of the Paradoxes’ patrons seemed intent on the last pursuit, and as his conversation with Micky and Serl was interrupted by demands for drink or food, Tim quietly drifted away from the bar and back to his quiet table.

This wasn’t helping. He was learning the lay of the land, but not how to get where he wanted--

Once again, he felt he was being watched. This time, Tim didn’t look around, wondering if he could pinpoint his observer. No corner of the room seemed particularly silent, but listening as Bruce had taught him for layers of sound, Tim picked out three quiet individuals. He considered each of them in turn. One of them was a miner who was nodding slowly lower and lower over his drink. The second was the waitress, Serl. She went about her job, but any time she was free for longer than a couple of minutes, her attention turned back to Tim.

That was not necessarily problematic, Tim decided. There were many reasons why she might be curious about him, none hostile. Satisfied he’d identified the cause of his uneasy feeling, Tim glanced in the direction of the third, with every expectation of finding another dozing miner.

The third was seated at the bar, a drink beside him and a book before him but he touched neither. He wasn’t looking at Tim, or at anything but the bar in front of him, but he was perfectly still, not reacting to the sudden raucous laughter of the table behind him or the swaying of the miner next to him. As Tim watched, he pushed a chair into the man’s casting hand before the man had opened his mouth to ask for it.

As the man sat unsteadily, he didn’t nod in thanks or make any indication he’d even noticed the silent figure at the bar. Come to think of it -- he must have been there while Tim talked to Micky and Serl, but Tim hadn’t noticed him either. And Tim had been taught to notice most things--

As if in response to Tim’s thoughts, the man lifted his head and Tim felt the hairs on his neck rise. Horns. That wasn’t a man, that was a--

“Try and keep your pants on everyone!” The door was suddenly flung open with an exuberance that was entirely unmerited. “The prodigal returns! And he bathed!”

Kon. Tim should not have felt so relieved.

“Well, hallelujah and about damn time.” Most of the room had turned when Kon made his entrance, but Micky was the first to greet him. “Any luck on tying your shoelaces, Kid?”

“Baby steps. Don’t want to overwhelm him, Micky. You don’t know how long the mere concept of soap took.”

Kon snorted. dumping his coat on the chair opposite Tim. “Yeah, I didn’t miss you guys either. Seriously, Serl. You can’t even give me a few seconds to unwind before starting in on me.”

“If I’d realized your ego was so fragile, I’d have worn my kid gloves today--”

“Stop being so fond of each other, you two. Kid, get over here so I can get a look at you.”

Not a regular, Tim decided, as Kon joined Micky behind the bar. He couldn’t lip-read the conversation in the dark, but from the body language and the way Micky ended the conversation with a friendly punch, friends at the very, very least.

Tim suddenly remembered the silent figure at the end of the bar and looked up.

Gone? But--

“Hear it didn’t take you long to find the Paradox,” Kon said with a smugness that implied he was taking all the credit for both the saloon and Tim’s discovery of it.

Tim shrugged. “What can I say? It just stood out.”

“All part of Micky’s business plan.” The waitress set a pint glass in front of Kon, Tim recognizing the smell of the chicken soup he’d been served earlier. “He’s looking for a particular clientele.”

Tim was pretty sure of his observational prowess but he glanced around the room once more. “Particular?”

“Table by the door,” Kon said comfortably. “Pete the Butcher. Murderer. Got life for dismembering his girlfriend’s lover. Next to him, Elspeth Dawson, marine-biologist. Next to her--”

“Wait,” Tim said. “Marine-biologist?”

“Wrote a paper suggesting that rather than being naturally toxic, the reason the seas of Jupiter II killed a party of completely unsuspecting colonists had rather more to do with illegal dumping by the Lexcorp supply ships operating in that area. Almost got it published, too.”

“Huh,” Tim said.

Kon was making short work of his pint of soup. “Old guy with them is Rex Leech. Made a living out of simple scams till he accidentally tangled with the campaign funds of someone big in Gotham. Claims he was made a scapegoat but with his record, who’d believe him?”

Waller, Lexcorp, and at least one crooked Gotham politician. Tim thought he was beginning to see how the pieces fit. Waller might offer to take care of a potential problem quietly. In return, she wouldn’t ask for much -- just a blind eye turned to her abuse of power. And if her ‘allies’ had second thoughts, she had the perfect blackmail material in the form of their victim--

“And you?”

Kon blinked but it was Serl who answered, holding out her hand. “Dr. Serling Rocquette. How do you do.”

“Don’t be fooled by her charming exterior. She’s actually one of the smartest geneticists in the world.”

“Universe, Kon. If you can’t be original, at least be accurate.”

If he wanted to keep their attention from devolving into more bickering, Tim would have to act fast. “What about--”

“You haven’t introduced yourself.”

Tim shrugged. “I’d thought Kon took care of that already.”

“Well, yeah, but you never mentioned what it was you were in for.”

Tim had hoped to avoid this. “It’s kind of personal.”

“Dude, nothing’s personal down here. What was it? You’re not the usual, or you wouldn’t have found the Paradox, so give it up. Whatever it is, we’ve heard worse.”

Serling echoed Kon’s smirk. “Keen intern at big Gotham industry notices that some numbers up, and over-zealously looks into them, naively taking them to his boss?”

Actually, that could work. “Internship at a newspaper actually. It was a photo -- It’s my hobby, photography. Anyway, there’s this ... family friend who also happens to be head of a big charity with a lot of political clout. Well. We were all at an event, and I was taking photos like I usually do. It wasn’t until I reviewed them that I realized there was a problem. Family friend’s know as a playboy, but he’s not usually interested in married women--”

“Dude,” Kon said, and Tim smiled grimly, hoping that Bruce would overlook the lie. It wouldn’t hurt to have something that would eventually get back to him should something go wrong--

“So,” he said brusquely. “I’ve told you mine, how about yours?”

“It’s nothing that interesting. Basically -- Serl, I am capable of washing myself. You don’t need to check.”

The waitress did not remove her hand from his hair or return Kon his helmet. “It’s you, Kon. I always need to check.”

“Oh, for crying out loud--” Kon stood, grabbing the hand that had been in his hair and tugging her after him. “Fine then. Let’s fucking check.”

“You always have to be so dramatic about everything,” Serling complained, expertly undoing the knot of her apron as she was drawn along behind him. She set it down on the bar, not looking back as Kon paused in the doorway of a backroom for her to squeeze past him.

“Maybe if you weren’t such a bitch--”

“You could try being less of a brat--”

The door shut but the sound of their bickering continued until the shutting of another door.

Tim paused. Had that really been--

“Think that was closer to twenty?” Micky said, glancing at his watch.

Tekka sidled over to him. “Fifteen, and you know it.”

“Fine, another to you. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were cheating somehow.”

“I’m just hip to their mega-hostile vibe,” Tekka shrugged. “I didn’t grok if Serl had any tables waiting?”

Okay then. Tim was back to square one -- only Kon had left his half-finished pint of soup behind with his coat.

Well, it would be a pity to let the soup go to waste.

Kon resurfaced later, smelling of soap and far too pleased with himself. Tim considered asking if the results of the check had been inconclusive enough to warrant a second shower, but decided against it on the grounds that Kon might actually answer. “Weighing should be done by now,” he said, shrugging on jacket and giving his empty pint glass a puzzled look. “Draper, you coming? We should go, get the takings.”

“You bring it straight back here once you’re done,” Micky warned. “You hear? No stopping in at the Cas for just a look.”

“Yes, Mom. Geez. Seriously got to wonder why I put up with you guys.”

Kon hummed as they made their way back down the main strip of Base, clearly in a good mood and Tim decided he definitely did not want to ask. He felt vaguely annoyed, for reasons he was having trouble pinpointing.

Fortunately, waiting on Kon had given rise to some fruitful reflections. “That guy at the Paradox. Micky ... he doesn’t also go by ‘The Mechanic’ does he?”

“Yeah, that’s him. How’d you know?”

“Heard someone in the Paradox mention it and wondered. I mean, ‘Butcher’ -- that’s scary. Intimidating. Makes sense in this place. But mechanic?”

“Okay, that’s where you’re wrong. See, in a place like this people are going to hear ‘marine-biologist’ or ‘photographer’ and think easy-pickings. So purely for survival, the mechanics and geneticists got to be tougher than anyone else. I’ve seen Micky in a fight, and trust me you don’t want to be on the wrong side of his left-hook. Serling too. Five years here, and I think I don’t scare easy but when she’s really angry--”

“Five years?”

His companion looked at him warily. “Yeah. More or less.”

“I’d prefer less, personally,” Tim said casually. “So, if anyone introduces themselves as a librarian I should just drop and run?”

“Pretty much. I mean, that’s not true for everyone. Tekka, for example. I mean, she’s kind of got her inner hippy repressed enough that she won’t hesitate to pacify a rowdy table, if she has to -- but that’s only if she has to. When you’re in with Micky, he’s got your back. Most people will think twice before messing with a Paradox regular ... So try and get him to like you, okay?”

Tim hadn’t been doing a good enough job of that? He nodded slowly. Micky ‘The Mechanic’ Cannon -- Born and raised in Suicide Slums, an area of the Planet Metropolis equal to the worst parts of Gotham. Came to prominence in the interplanetary war of ‘09, where his reputation for fixing anything, from machinery to people to an entire war-effort became known. Inspired dedication and loyalty in his followers, most of whom would go to extraordinary lengths to achieve Micky’s goals, he’d spurned military honours, looking instead for new challenges. A school for underprivileged kids. Fine-tuning and refining even further water recycling and purification on Earth. And then, the chance to put back together CADMUS, once at the fore-front of genetic research and discovery. That was when Micky’s story had stalled.

Likewise, Roquette Serling. Brilliant teenage scientist, she’d written her prize-winning dissertation on the remaining potential of human DNA aged 11, and finished her PHD aged 15 -- where she’d signed on to join Micky in renewing CADMUS. That had been seven years ago -- and it had been about five since anything but regular status reports had come out of the CADMUS reports.

Dick had gone in expecting a lab and found -- what?

There were others involved in the CADMUS Project, Tim remembered, thinking back to his briefing. Jim Harper, head of security, otherwise known as ‘Guardian’, one of CADMUS success stories, a clone so successful that he was used as the prototype for the solider-drone used in that same interplanetary war that Micky had made his name in; Dubbilex, head of personnel, a so-called DNAlien, a human whose DNA was spliced to produce supernatural abilities, giving him incredible telepathic gifts at the cost of a horrific appearance--

So that was it.

“Just before you showed up there was a guy at the bar,” Tim said casually. “Couldn’t see his face but it looked like he had horns.”

He was listening for Kon’s breathing, so he caught the slight hitch.

“Not everyone here is human, huh.”

“It’s mostly human,” Kon said and Tim felt himself the recipient of a sideways glance. “But -- yeah. General rule of thumb is if a name consists of 3 letters or less and may or may not contain any vowels, the person attached to it is probably not human.”

“Exceptions made for King Shark?” Tim asked, digesting that bit of info.

“Make all the exceptions for King Shark,” Kon said fervently. “Yeah, that guy is not even remotely human. KnockOut too. Looks like your average, amazingly hot, red-haired, sex-goddess, figure like -- um. But yeah, looks human, actually alien with pretty loose views on violence and the sanctity of human life.”

There was a bitterness to that last part that didn’t seem on par with the attitude Kon usually projected, and Tim glanced at him. “King Shark, KnockOut -- there a second trend involving names starting with ‘K’?”

It was meant as a joke to lighten the mood, but Kon’s smirk was thin. “Making me the exception that proves the rule? Nah.” A pause, and just as Tim was casting about for a way to ask his next question, “Though, I’m just glad I got a vowel and that they put it where they did. ‘Onk’ or ‘Nok’ kind of leave something to be desired on the name front.”

Kon said it with deliberate casualness, but Tim wasn’t fooled. The hestitation indicated that Kon was doing something he knew he shouldn’t. Telling Tim something he shouldn’t. And with that realization, other facts fell into place.

It wasn’t coincidence that Serling had interrupted his conversation with Kon twice at the Paradox. Which meant that her omission of Kon as a possible source of transport to the Rim was deliberate -- as was Micky’s. “I don’t know,” Tim said, equally casual. “Onk, maybe, but you sort of suit Nok.”

Kon elbowed him comfortably. “Says someone willing to answer to _Alvin._ ”

“Touche.” So was Kon’s heritage not common knowledge, or was it just Tim that it was being kept from? It was hard to tell -- but Tim found himself leaning towards the latter. Had he caught Bruce’s paranoia? He would have to find out before it compromised his ability to convince Kon to take him to the Rim.

It wasn’t hard making sure they spent the rest of the day together. Tim had a lot to learn about Base society still and Kon enjoyed showing off his knowledge. Or just showing off at all.

Tim rolled his eyes but putting up with Kon was not the chore it should have been. Which was interesting in itself. Since Tim was only nominally interested in how the mining was rewarded, he watched Kon conclude his business arrangements at the Weighing Station and tried to work it out.

Superficial resemblance to Dick?

Tim immediately felt a stab of guilt. Dick was the reason for all of this -- Tim’s older brother figure, his friend, on many levels his hero still. And yet, Tim had only perfunctorily thought of him since arriving on CADMUS. Even having the mission to occupy him was little excuse. Tim was lost for a few minutes in contemplation of all his failures as a human being--

“Hey, Draper. What do you say to a burger before we head back to the Paradox?”

“Micky said no detours.”

“He wouldn’t have said no detours if he wasn’t expecting me to make at least one,” Kon reasoned. “Come on. The Rat-Trap is the only place for burgers in Base, because it is literally the only place for burgers.”

He’d not had time to brood over Dick if only because Kon hadn’t given him the chance, Tim decided. The resemblance in manner probably didn’t hurt either -- though, there was a marked difference.

It was at the Rat-Trap that Tim worked it out. Dick had been accused of a confidence bordering on arrogance, but that was born from a self-assuredness that most people found charming and Tim considered tacitly reassuring. Kon, on the other hand ...

“-- and that’s when Scavenger said, ‘On the contrary, I would have been disappointed had I not found a tail.’ Which, incidentally is also the reason you don’t want to order the ‘Finders Keepers’ burger--”

“You’re acutely insecure and over-compensating to mask the fact.”

Tim was so proud of the accuracy of his deduction that it took a few seconds of silence for him to realize he’d made it out loud. “Um--”

“Wow. Don’t give a guy any warning do you.” Tim had hurt. Kon’s shrug as he turned was belligerent. “I know I said there was little personal down here, but still.”

Tim had to walk first to keep up with him. “Sorry. I didn’t mean -- I was just thinking out loud.”

“It’s cool. We can skip the burgers.”

All wrong. Once they reached the Paradox, Kon’s friends would have most of his attention and it would be far too easy for them to make their case. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Then what did you mean?”

Kon stopped so suddenly that it was only due to Bruce’s drills that Tim did not collide with him. As it was they were practically toe to toe as Kon turned, and Tim had to force himself to stand his ground, not be intimidated by Kon’s sudden alarming presence.

“I was thinking.” Bruce wouldn’t be casting for words to explain. “About you.” Bruce wouldn’t explain, period. He would just glare his way to the Rim and do it in half the time it took Tim to articulate this. “You’re nicer to me than you need to be.” Kon snorted and Tim had to press in quickly before he could lose control of the conversation. “And I was trying to work out why that was.”

“Yeah.” Kon raised his arms in the air. “Why would anyone but a total idiot bother being nice to you--”

He would make this as awkward as possible. “I wondered if maybe you liked me,” Tim said, crossing his arms as compactly across his chest as possible. The borrowed vest made this difficult. “Then I thought maybe it was because we both wanted the same thing.”

Kon’s hands wavered mid-air a moment, then fell with the sigh he let out. “You,” he said, rubbing his temples with one hand. “You are the weirdest person I’ve ever met. No offence.”

Tim supposed he couldn’t argue that. “None taken.”

“So. Liked was it?” Kon was not looking at Tim but over his head, scanning the street for a more secluded corner. Spotting something, he put a hand on Tim’s shoulder, steering him towards an alleyway.

“It was the most likely possibility.” Tim let himself be steered.

Kon’s laugh was short and not amused. “Yeah. Okay, Draper.” Even though they’d reached the alley, Kon left his hand on Tim’s shoulder. “I’ll admit to the occasional outbreak of self-doubt and the collection of unresolved issues, and sure, maybe I tried too hard--”

Tried? “That wasn’t--”

“But I do take issue with the ‘liked’ thing. That might hold true where you’re from, but down here ‘like’ is not so much of a consideration. It’s more like an afterthought. If it’s a thought at all.”

Tim was wondering if or when Kon was planning on removing his hand. “Saying you are masking your insecurities is fine, but accusing you of having feelings is totally out?”

“You’re smart.” Kon was much more himself now. “But yeah. Feelings are never going to be your first consideration down here, so putting weight on them’s not the best idea you’ll have. Especially if they’re my feelings because.” Kon paused to take a breath, removing the hand on Tim’s shoulder. “Crazy possessive ex with a vendetta, girlfriend who no longer has a head and I am so over seeing people I like decapitated, you know? And then -- lets not even get into what happened to Jim.”

“Um,” said Tim.

“It’s like, okay, world. I get that I have pretty much forever ruined the lives of everyone who gives a shit about me ever, but I did enjoy having at least the illusion of some kind of adequacy. But nope, we can not have the clone thinking he’s got something right, can we. So just when I think I’m finally working things out and -- I’m over-sharing again aren’t I.”

“Maybe a little.”

“Well, fuck.”

“Look,” Tim said with all the caution at his disposal. “I am not entirely sure what happened this conversation.” And that was an understatement. “But if it helps, I can promise you I am not trying to make you like me.”

Kon snorted. “Yeah,” he said. “I guess you wouldn’t.” He sighed. “I got to get back to the Paradox and you’ve got to find a gig, but before that, here.” It was a handful of the tokens used in place of cash in the caverns. “I figure this is about the work you did. You can, I dunno, get a place to stay in Base while you look around--”

“Did you deduct the food I ate and time you had to spend looking for me from my share?”

“Uh--”

“Didn’t think so.” Tim counted out three tokens, and held them back out. “This about right?”

It was dark in the alley, but Tim was pretty sure that Kon’s expression was nonplussed. “Gee. Don’t thank me or anything.”

Which was about right, in Tim’s book. “Like I said, you’ve been looking out for me. Just returning the favour.” He thumped Kon on the shoulder casually as he made his way out of the alley. “I’ll catch you later.”

Once on the street, Tim moved fast. Right now, Kon would be confused, trying to work out what had just happened. He’d recover fast, he wouldn’t have survived at all in the Caverns if he didn’t know how to roll with surprises, which didn’t give Tim long to reach and infiltrate the Paradox.

As much as you could infiltrate a place occupied by a telepath anyway. Tim kept his surface thoughts to a minimum, as he approached the saloon, slipping down the alleyway beside the building. They wouldn’t talk in the front room, he reasoned. The door Kon and Serling had used had obviously led into two rooms. A kitchen stood to reason, but would be noisy, unconducive to private conversations. Micky would have an office, somewhere he conducted business -- and Tim was pretty sure he’d found it as he followed the wall around, to a room without the clatter of the kitchen.

He was able to lever the window open with the edge of a batarang, slip inside and be out again just as the sound of feet started on the hall outside. Tim was operating on the assumption that the Officers monitoring the mining side of the operation also relied on radio technology so that Tim’s bug would not be as noticeable. It was still a slight risk -- but not as much of a risk as eavesdropping anywhere near a telepath.

Even so, he waited until he was a good distance away to open the link and listen in.

“--and you know why,” Micky was saying. “For the best. Unnecessary risks are the last thing you need right now.”

Unnecessary? Tim had a sudden flash of homesickness for Bruce. Clearly he’d been in the underground too long.

Kon was as impressed by the warning as Tim had been. “What I need is to get out of this place,” he said, and Tim could picture the folding of the arms that accompanied that statement. “You said yourself I was right. Draper’s not supposed to be here.”

“And that’s even more reason not to get yourself tangled up in something you don’t understand. He’s not an officer. That doesn’t mean he’s on our side. There’s worse out there than the Caverns, Kid.” 

“So you say--”

“Micky’s right.” Serling now, but not the Serling Tim had encountered in the Paradox. Worried, she sounded younger than her 22 years. “The belt you described? Even overlooking getting that past the surface checks and down here at all ... that’s really serious technology. And that’s not cheap. Someone with the money and edge to look into the Project ... Not exactly a good combination. Especially for you.”

“So it’s risky. It’s a chance. We haven’t had a chance like this before, ever. You’re seriously telling me we shouldn’t take it--”

“I’m telling you we don’t take it.”

“Micky--”

“I mean it, Kid. You don’t accomplish much of anything rushing blindly into situations you don’t understand. There’s been enough of that already -- and we can’t afford to take risks that could lose family. You know why.”

Kon’s reply was muted. “Sure, just go ahead and twist that knife. It’s not like I wasn’t already feeling horrendously guilty or anything.”

“You know if Jim were here he’d say the same thing. Dubbilex?”

“Undoubtedly. Your safety -- all of our safety -- was very important to him.”

“Yeah, really not helping on the guilt front.”

“Will you just think for once? We’re trying to help--”

“And that’s the problem. If anyone should be helping here, it should be me. Not--”

“Kid, you know none of us blame you for that. Sure, we got regrets, but you’re not one of them. So stop with that old refrain, okay?” It was hard to discern the mumble, but whatever Kon’s reply was it appeared to satisfy Micky. “Good. Now, you go, get something to eat.”

“If you’re unlucky, there might be some of Tekka’s chilli left.”

“Wait, you let her cook?”

The voices faded out. Tim was just about to close the feed when a voice sighed, so close to the microphone that despite having most of Base between them, Tim still jumped.

“Kids, eh?” There was a pause. “Dubbilex? You’ve been quiet.”

“I have been distracted. This Draper -- I believe he recognised me.”

“Don’t tell me--”

“No. Not of the AGENDA, I’m certain of that. But I’ve encountered a mind like his once before.” There was another pause. “Aiding Draper might not be the mistake you believe it.”

“What -- you agree with the Kid?”

“Not entirely,” Dubbilex said calmly. “It would be a mistake for him to go anywhere near the Project. He is far from ready. But perhaps -- We should speak more of this tomorrow. Once we’ve all had time to think.”

“If you say so.”

Tim waited for the sound of the door shutting before closing the line. Well. It looked as if he hadn’t been the only one to have been putting facts together. His cover was blown -- which meant that he could say goodbye to Draper and concentrate on getting down to business.

Tim preferred business.


	3. Business.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First things first, Tim reminded himself grimly. Find and free Dick, or work out who was responsible for his death. Second: Get off planet and the news of the abuses perpetrated on CADMUS to Bruce. Then they could find a therapist for Kon.

So far, business was going well.

After too many days of biding time, learning about the underground world and simply waiting, Tim was finally on his way to the Rim. The ground crawler was a far cry from the vehicles that Tim was used to using in Gotham or in free-space, but knowing he was moving towards his goal compensated for the lack of speed.

There was only so fast you could go in the total dark of the caverns, anyway. Even though Tim was at this point sticking to the major trails, a discernable path worn into the cavern floor by repeated passage, he had to maintain a steady pace to avoid burning too much fuel. His guide had to make the return trip after all.

Speaking of his guide, Tim was pretty sure that he’d heard stirring from the bed.

“Morning. Slept well?”

There was a rather lengthy pause.

“Draper,” Kon said finally, and Tim had to fight not to smirk. “Are you -- you’re driving my vehicle.”

“I am.”

The glass of the windshield reflected Kon’s form as he sat up, considering his surroundings. “There was a girl--”

“Bianca. I saw her out.” Tim gave in to the smirk. “She said to look her up next time you’re back in Base.”

“Yeah? Well that’s all right then.” The blankets rustled as Kon apparently settled back down to sleep.

Tim raised an eyebrow at the reflected mound of blankets in the windshield in front of him. Really? He had been expecting a little more from his companion of the last couple of days than that--

“Wait, did you just kidnap me?”

There was the reaction. Tim carefully brought the ground crawler to a halt, before leaning out of the driver’s chair to look at Kon directly. “I prefer to think of it as giving you a helpful nudge in the direction you were going to take anyway.”

“Really.” It was hard to judge Kon’s expression from tone alone -- the shadow masked his face as effectively as the goggles usually did. “And how do you figure that?”

“You like the Rim. I need to go to the Rim.”

“Simple as that?”

“It’s not that complicated. There’s a reason you walked out into the caverns after someone who attacked you because you knew he was hurt,” Tim pointed out. “It’s the same reason you took me to the Paradox at all. You knew I needed help -- your help -- and you were hoping your friends would agree.”

“Which they did not.”

“Inconvenient,” Tim agreed. “Which is why I decided to help things along. With me so far?”

“I don’t really have much of a choice on that front.” Tim raised an eyebrow but was not going to point out that Kon hadn’t even tried to physically overpower him and free himself. “So ... what do you have planned at the Rim, anyway? If you’re hoping to get a head start in the mining biz, I warn you, my opinion of you will be forever ruined.”

“Nothing so pedestrian, I promise,” Tim assured him. “There is a laboratory. A friend of mine disappeared looking into it. We’re going to find him.”

“You decided that part already.”

Was this how Bruce felt, trying to give mission briefings to constant interruptions? “It will be dangerous. The laboratory is undoubtedly guarded, and for my friend to have been incapacitated, guarded well.”

Kon grinned. He stretched deliberately before climbing out of the bed, pausing only to ruffle Tim’s hair before continuing to his wardrobe. “Daring over-whelmingly negative odds to risk our lives, breaking into a securely guarded genetics laboratory? Draper, I thought you’d never ask.”

Tim should have had a smart reply ready, but instead he blinked. Apparently there were occasions when Kon did remove the coat and goggles -- and what an occasion it was. Below the atrocious clothing choices, Kon had apparently been concealing an above average body. He only had the barest glimpse of well developed muscle fluidly shifting and a broad chest before Kon turned his back and--

Clearly Tim was momentarily delusional, because those were not thoughts that Tim Drake had on a mission. Especially about his current companion. He’d smelt Kon, he knew better than to consider him attractive on any level.

He was simply worried about Dick. That was the only possible explanation. “Hopefully, you can get breakfast while I drive, because I’m operating on a tight schedule.”

“Says the guy who helped himself to my vehicle,” Kon’s complain was muffled by the undershirt he was pulling over his head. “But yeah, I can get breakfast and then I am taking over the wheel, because seriously. My vehicle.”

Tim listened to Kon fix them breakfast and tried to keep himself on edge. Just because things were going right didn’t mean that he could relax.

Even if Kon had decided to throw caution to the wind and drop his guard entirely. Tim had talked him into taking shifts in sleeping so that they could make better progress driving, and they were waiting until they reached a divergence in roads where Kon’s knowledge would be needed to swap positions. Currently the miner was lounging in the passenger seat, fully dressed except for his coat, and regaling Tim with the complicated and convoluted history of just how he acquired the ground crawler to start with. Apparently Tim had been forgiven the argument of the day before.

Bizarrely, the kidnapping was even less of a concern. Not that it was technically kidnapping -- Tim had been certain that removing any opportunity for interference, Kon would agree to accompanying him to the Rim, and Kon’s subsequent increase in friendliness only confirmed his hypothesis. But even so.

First things first, Tim reminded himself grimly. Find and free Dick, or work out who was responsible for his death. Second: Get off planet and the news of the abuses perpetrated on CADMUS to Bruce. Then they could find a therapist for Kon.

And maybe Tim should schedule an appointment for himself too, because, really -- what was wrong with him? He’d spent years cultivating his personal space, There were walls, barriers that even Dick or Bruce respected. Necessary walls.

And despite those walls, despite the layers of identities and compromise and distance, he was relaxed. Far too relaxed for someone gearing up to a very difficult infiltration. “Even Micky. Micky ‘the Mechanic’ Cannon said that this thing was a disgrace to the name vehicle?”

Kon nudged Tim with his foot. “But that was before he said he’d get it working for me. And he did.”

“Against all odds.”

“Geez, it’s almost as though you didn’t appropriate this vehicle for your own ends.”

“Desperate circumstances.” Tim brought the ground crawler to a halt. “Your turn.”

“Finally.” Kon stood up at the same time Tim did. In the cramped space of the ground crawler there wasn’t the space for both of them to move, so there was a moment’s pause before Tim squeezed past Kon, elbowing him in the side as he did.

“Enjoy.”

“Driving my own ship? Thanks, Draper, I will.” One of Kon’s hands settled momentarily on Tim’s shoulder squeezing just enough to hurt, before swinging himself into the driver’s seat with practiced ease. “What’s next? Telling me to keep breathing?”

Snorting would have been taken as amusement and just encouraged him. Tim ignored Kon, settling on the bed. That. That was the perfect example of all that was currently wrong. He could have simply squeezed past. The elbow was unnecessary -- and had been reciprocated.

Troubling.

And yet he couldn’t bring himself to care.

Bruce had warned him of this. About forming attachments that interfered with his ability to concentrate on a mission. At least Kon was not actively trying to interfere with Tim achieving his goal, and Tim concentrated instead on simply ignoring him, focusing on recalling the Lab specs he’d memorized before the mission, and going through a few simple training exercises with his uninjured arm.

He hadn’t realized what a good job he’d done of putting himself into the moment until Kon cleared his throat. “Hey, Draper. Don’t freak out, but I need to get past you to reach the element.”

“It’s lunchtime?”

“More like early dinner. You were clearly in the zone -- I didn’t want to interrupt.”

This early into the trip, they had actual food in the form of leftovers from the Paradox, which Kon heated. He’d done some shopping; Tim was upgraded to a bowl.

“For me? You shouldn’t have.”

“Don’t go getting any big ideas, but I figured I never knew who I might run into out here in the dark. It’s more a company-bowl than anything else.”

“Uh huh.”

“I got you a spoon, too -- I mean--”

“A company spoon.”

“Shut up.”

Tim smirked. As if he needed the confirmation that Kon had been considering the trip to the Rim himself. Though the fact that he was investing in extra cutlery was a little alarming. Did he realize Tim wasn’t sticking around? “We’re making good progress?”

“Yeah. Not that I’m advocating you make a habit of sneaking into people’s ground crawlers in the dead of night, but we covered a lot more ground than we would have otherwise. I figure we got another 6 hours to get to the Rim, another 2 to get as close as we can to the Lab.”

“Eight hours.” That was -- less time than Tim thought he had. “You’re good to keep driving?”

“I got to be, don’t I?” Kon leaned back, hand on one shoulder as he flexed his arm, working out the stiffness. “You’re really serious about this.”

Tim looked at him quizzically. He knew Kon was not as dumb as he sounded, so he was pretty sure that he had to have noticed that sneaking into an underground penal colony on a dead planet was pretty serious stuff, but apparently Kon had meant it as a compliment.

“The stretches you were doing. That’s some sort of martial arts, right?”

“It’s a combination of several.”

“Cool.” Kon seemed to be hesitating on whether or not to ask something.

“We don’t have time for me to teach you.”

“I know. Your friend -- in a lot of trouble, right?”

Tim nodded. “For him to disappear at all means something really serious happened. He’s very capable.”

“Like you.” Kon frowned. “Just what are you?”

Tim raised an eyebrow at the phrasing. “The technical term would be a ‘vigilante.’”

“And you guys were investigating CADMUS?”

“It was obvious that something had gone wrong ... but not what. The answer seemed to be the lab, not the penal colony.” Tim felt momentarily concerned about Kon’s reaction. “Once we’re out of here, we’ll be bringing this place to the attention of the proper authorities. Ones that won’t be bought off or intimidated by Waller,” he promised.

“You’ve seen Waller, right? She’s -- well, I wouldn’t say I was scared, but I definitely felt unclean afterwards. Micky refused to hold my hand. There may have nightmares--”

Tim snorted. “You haven’t seen my Boss.”

The information that Tim was working for someone else distracted Kon long enough for Tim to finish eating and begin disassembling, cleaning and reassembling his belt. He thought briefly of his pack, lost during the vult attack. Those supplies would really have come in handy now.

“Just so you know,” Kon said casually, restarting the ground crawler. “Jim knew some of that stuff you were practicing too.”

It took Tim a moment to parse that sentence. “You mean Jim Harper, otherwise known as ‘Guardian’?”

“His clones are currently guarding the lab. They’ve got at least 30 but they can make more whenever they want, so who even knows what you’re looking at at this point.”

All the guards were clones? Not being able to blend in as a uniformed staff member was going to make things much more difficult. “Anything else I should know about?”

“Westfield’s a real creep. And he lies -- but I guess you’re not wanting to do business with him, so that’s not really important. Uh. Donovan’s in charge of the actual work, and he’s ... well, I was going to say border-line insane, but I think he crossed that border ages ago. The rest of the staff, they’re kind of stuck. Recruited off-world, no idea of what they were getting into and no way out until their contracts up. They won’t be a problem for you, I’m pretty sure.”

Maybe not a problem -- but if he couldn’t impersonate a guard, maybe one of the staff would be a better fit. “What are they working on in the lab?”

“Mainly the production and supply of Guardian-clones, continuing Serling’s research into the latent potential of humans -- and man, you should not get her on that subject. Hell hath no fury like a woman deprived of her precious research project ... But yeah, Guardian’s popular, but the G-Gnomes tend to creep people out and no one wants to deal with the sacrifice of creating another Dubbilex, so they’re working on expanding their repertoire.”

“Would that include extending their range of operation into non-human DNA?”

Kon looked up startled. Tim couldn’t see his eyes thanks to the goggles, but he had a perfect view of Kon’s half open mouth. “We were kind of hoping they were done with that,” he said bitterly. “After all, it worked so well the last time.”

“What happened the last time?”

“It was pretty much a disaster. I mean, you got Micky Cannon working on something and he can’t pull it around? That’s fucked up.” Kon’s shoulders hunched miserably, and Tim paused working on his belt to watch his reflection in the windshield. “But yeah. Idea was to produce an upgraded version of the Guardian that included meta-abilities to match those of the alien races making a home within the Allied Planets. Figured they’d start off with something big, attention getting, so they went for the Kryptonian D.N.A--”

“No.”

“Yeah.”

“But that’s --”

“Yeah.”

The idea of mass-producing obedient clones with that sort of ability was just terrifying. Tim knew first-hand that there were plenty of wealthy, power-hungry business owners who would leap at the chance to consolidate their own holdings or expand out -- or use the possession of the clones to argue for the Allied Planets developing beyond their borders. “You said it failed.”

“A straight-up, 100% genetically accurate clone was never going to possible,” Kon explained. “Kryptonians look human, but that’s pretty much all they got in common with people. Greatest geneticists in the universe working on it, and they couldn’t understand it, much less duplicate it. So they tried mixing it.”

This couldn’t end well. “Mixing it with--?”

“Human at least they understood. Close enough in physical appearance that they figured something would stick.” Kon’s cavalier description of the project was a little too forced for Tim’s peace of mind. “And eventually something did. It wasn’t easy, of course. It took Micky and Serling the better part of two years before one of their combinations stabilized, but hey presto! One week later, fully functional clone. Physically perfect, capable of speech and reason and a bunch of other stuff. Lacking only in two vital areas.”

“You don’t have the meta-abilities.”

Kon’s pout was miffed, clearly not appreciating being beaten to the punch-line. “Who is telling this story here?” He paused. “I didn’t say it was me.”

“It was kind of obvious.” ‘Physically perfect,’ ha.

“Yeah, well. Fine. Here I am, first Human-Kryptonian hybrid to survive, and I cannot do zip that an ordinary human cannot. Well, Westfield said that the depths of my juvenility were astounding, but I like to think that’s only because he cared so much--”

“Kon. Your point.”

“No powers. And Westfield’s getting impatient enough to give Serling and Micky an ultimatum. They’ve been working on this for almost two years, and all they’ve created is an uncooperative and rude teenager; anyone can do that without a degree in genetics and millions of dollars of Westfield’s cash. They got till the rest of their two years to eek an ability out of me, otherwise they’re dissecting me so they can at least learn what went wrong. Serling’s kind of upset about this and Micky is quietly making plans to sneak me out of there, but Westfield is expecting this and has had Donovan monitoring them for any signs of betrayal. There’s kind of a coup, except I don’t know if it’s technically a coup since Westfield was always in charge, but he’s off-planet and Donovan was the one making the coup or not-a-coup happen and--”

“Serling, Micky, Dubbilex, Tekka, Guardian and you all end up in the penal colony, probably charged with something like industrial sabotage or something.”

“Would you please stop ruining my story.” 

This is a mission-briefing, not a social gathering, but Tim still feels somewhat penitent. “You could be more concise.”

“Anyway. You were wrong. Dubbilex and Guardian stayed behind to break me out. We joined the others in Base, kept a low profile, working our way up the mining ranks while Dubbilex stayed in the Project to give us warning should Westfield and Donovan decide to risk coming after me for their samples. That happened once -- the goons they sent didn’t get anywhere close. Waller’s dystopian experiment working a little too well ... but I digress.”

Tim interrupted before Kon could start on another digression. “You are willingly accompanying me towards a place occupied by people who want to dissect you.”

“No need to thank me.”

Tim could happily have hit him. “You do realize the risk.” He had to realize the risk. That was the whole point of the convoluted explanation, surely.

“It’s cool. After all the trouble we had getting out of there, they’re never going to expect me to go back.”

Forget hit. He was going to strangle Kon. “I’m beginning to see why Micky didn’t want me at the Paradox.”

“Don’t start agreeing with him. Look. You need me. I’m here. End of story,” Kon shrugged. “I’ve told you mine. How about filling me in on your side of the story? What’s going to happen when we get to the Lab?”

‘We,’ was it? “I am going in. You’re going to wait.” Before Kon could protest, Tim cut him off. “Do you know enough about machinery to send an encrypted radio message?”

“Uh.” Kon suspected he was being side-tracked, but wasn’t sure. “I think I could with instructions, but no one’s got a radio down here--”

“I do.”

“You’d still need a--”

“Signal booster. I’ve got that too.” Tim smirked. “Now pay attention,” he said, picking up his belt again. “You’re going to have to memorize this.”

It took another four hours, but Kon memorized the message and procedure for sending the message to Tim’s satisfaction. At this point, Kon declared himself exhausted and they stopped for the night.

Unfortunately, while Tim could drive the ground crawler during the early stage of the trip, Kon refused to let him navigate during the later stages.

“No maps,” he explained. “And they chose this part for the lab because the natural caverns made approaching it difficult. You need someone who knows the way.”

“And you need to sleep.”

“As do you. I’m just the chauffeur here. You’re doing the actual interesting stuff tomorrow.” Kon sat on the bed to tug off his boots.

Tim pulled his legs up under himself to settle into a meditative position on the passenger seat. “I’ll be fine.” And he needed to think of a way to make sure that Kon didn’t decide to follow him into the Lab after all. ‘Interesting’ was not the adjective of choice of someone who properly understood the situation. “I’ve done more on less sleep. And I can rest like this.”

“Better you than me.” Kon shrugged, discarding socks before shrugging out of his t-shirt. It was rusty red in colour, though Tim only knew that from seeing it in the light of the Weighing Station. On the floor of the ground crawler, it was just another type of grey. Kon’s skin stood out some because of its pallour, and Tim frowned, suddenly struck by how absurd it was that they’d been sharing such an enclosed space and not seen each other properly--

“Are you even listening?”

“What?”

“I said you decide you want to sleep, you know what to do.” Kon settled underneath the blankets, with what sounded like amusement -- god, he probably thought Tim had been watching him and that was the reason for his distraction.

“I know.”

“There’s room in here for two.”

“I know.”

“So you want to get cosy, you totally can.”

He totally thought Tim had been watching him. “Less talking, more sleeping.”

“We wouldn’t have to be sleeping.”

“Shut up, Kon.”

Eventually Kon shut up, and Tim concentrated on resting. Easier said than done -- his mind kept turning to the Lab and what awaited him there. Calmly, he reviewed mission specs, lining up what Kon had told him against what he already knew. The picture he was painting was grim. Even the advantage of the unknown, usually on his side -- their enemies did not tend to see them coming -- was not his here. They would know that someone would come looking for Dick, if not who --

And after Kon’s disturbing revelations, Tim was even more worried about his brother. Under Bruce’s tutelage, they’d both become adept at pushing past natural limits. For a project interested in unlocking the potential of human DNA to its fullest, there was no better test subject--

“Will you stop stressing out? You’re stressing me out ... And I’m supposed to be sleeping here.”

“How am I stressing you out? I haven’t moved.”

“That’s exactly the problem. That’s not natural. Come over here.”

Tim stayed where he was. “I am comfortable in the chair.”

“And you would be more comfortable over here. Remember when you fell asleep and I drove us almost all the way to BASE before you noticed? That could be you now.”

Tim was grudgingly impressed. Kon had a point. “I was physically exhausted.”

“You should be really grateful that I’m not offering to help you with that. Just come on. You can have the side of the bed and everything.”

Because he actually was grateful that Kon had not made the obvious comment, Tim indulged him. It would be easy enough to go back to the chair once Kon had fallen asleep.

Kon satisfied that he’d won his point scooted back so that Tim had room. Well, comparative room. Tim could still feel his breath on the back of his neck as he settled, pulling the blanket over him. The bed might be more comfortable, but the chair didn’t shift, or smirk at him (Tim knew. Bat-senses). Most importantly of all, the chair didn’t gloat.

“See? Isn’t this better?”

“Goodnight, Kon.” Tim settled down to listening to Kon’s breathing, waiting for it to hit that steady pattern that indicated sleep.

It was a little disconcerting to wake up and realize that he’d slept. Not the full eight hours recommended by most specialists, but the Tim-equivalent. Kon was leaning on him, but that was the extent of his intrusion, and he didn’t stir as Tim wriggled out of the bed, and slipped out of the ground crawler.

Basic bodily functions attended to, Tim realised this was the perfect opportunity to get into gear -- figuratively and literally. Discarding the khaki pants and boots that were his cover, Tim’s smile was thin but satisfied as he applied the mask and gloves he kept in his belt. Finally he felt like himself again.

It had only been days, but it felt like it had been longer without the costume and Tim went through his usual training routine, as much as he could, favouring his right arm where necessary but mostly just focusing on how right it felt to be Robin again.

It was about two hours later that the ground crawler’s door opened, suddenly illuminating Tim in the faint light from its interior. “Draper,” Kon said, and he sounded relieved. “I thought you’d -- woah. That’s -- you, huh.”

Tim’s mouth twitched in amusement. “This is me,” he said, twirling his staff with possibly unwarranted flair and all right, so he wasn’t as polished at that as Dick was, but Kon did not have to know that. “You thought I’d ... ?”

“Gone without me.”

Tim snapped his staff back into his belt crisply. “You do remember you’re not coming.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“I mean that. Not coming. You’ve got that message to relay, right?”

“What the message you made me practice for over five hours yesterday? That message? It’s not like I’m going to forget.”

Tim could not feel convinced. “Right. Let’s get started.”

Kon had been absolutely right. Tim had needed him. The caverns surrounding the Rim were absolutely treacherous. There were times when the ground crawler slid down slopes or suddenly lurched sideways that made Tim’s stomach lurch in a way that piloting his ship had never done.

Not being able to see and therefore anticipate what was next? Or not being in control? Tim spared a glance at Kon, sitting next to him in the driver’s seat. He was absolutely focused on his task, directing the ground crawler with a singleness of purpose that Tim had not thought him capable of.

Or maybe he was simply reading too much into the sheer fact of Kon’s silence. It was welcome, the first indicator that his companion appreciated just what was at stake. Hard to tell whether it was actually sinking in that they were -- sorry, that Tim was undertaking something of more than usual riskiness, or simply that Kon needed to concentrate.

When the ground crawler finally stilled, the silence settled conclusively. Kon was taking this seriously, watching without word as Tim finished the last of his checks. “Start walking in four hours.”

“I know, I know.” Tim had been closer to the Rim than he’d realized when he abandoned his ship. “You’re seriously doing this.”

“It’s the entire reason I’m here,” Tim reminded him, stepping out of the ground crawler.

“Draper--”

“You’re not trained for this.” Tim was as blunt as possible. “You’re vulnerable. Having to look out for you would slow me down and jeopardize my mission.”

Kon snorted. “I can take a hint. I was just going to say ‘be careful.’ And that if you got the chance to, I don’t know, spit in Westfield’s coffee or something, that’d be awesome too.”

Tim activated stealth-mode simply so that Kon wouldn’t see his expression. “Four hours.”

CADMUS had been expecting him. Monitoring their security systems so intently that even the slight traces of Tim’s entrance were noted and a pair of guards sent to investigate. Tim had time to hide himself, but not to obscure the traces of his entrance, and listened grimly as the news of his break in was reported back to whoever was in charge.

Tim didn’t hear the response, but the nod that passed between the pair of guards was indicative enough of an already agreed upon plan of action that he knew he was in trouble. Undoubtedly a search pattern intended to cover every inch of the underground laboratory. Trailing along behind his pair of guards to get an idea of the search grid they were using, Tim was able to gain himself some space.

The moment he attempted to hack the CADMUS systems, however --

Tim massaged his right arm grimly as he slipped noiselessly down a corridor. Dick must have tried the same thing -- they’d set the access ports to instantly lock down. He’d barely had time to escape the automatic lock doors, before another pair of the guards had caught up with him. Tim had managed to disarm and disable them, but Kon had been right to warn him. The Guardian was no pushover and his legacy had extended to his clones.

Tim was fine meeting them in twos, but if they managed to surround him in any greater numbers than that, his injured arm would work against him. Already Tim suspected he was being subtly herded -- definitely prepared for him. Time to abandon subtle, break out the toys?

“So -- hey.”

“You’re supposed to be walking.”

“I don’t have a watch.”

“Eviscerating you would take time I don’t have. That’s the only reason I’m restraining myself right now. Kon, you have got to get out of here--”

“I remembered something that might help you.” 

That was the definite clatter of footsteps coming their way. Tim growled. “Lead the way.”

Kon led the way through the corridors with a certainty that Tim could appreciate, even as he took out another pair of guards on the way.

“Okay, so there is efficiency in action, and then there’s that thing you just did--”

“No time, Kon. You were helping?”

“Right.” Kon paused in front of one of the rows of identical doors, placing his hand to the scanner outside it. “Serling’s lab,” he explained. “Dubblilex said that it was damaged so badly, Donovan moved operations to his, didn’t bother tidying it up. With any luck--”

“Subject 000013: Designation Superboy. Identity confirmed; Access granted.”

The door slid open.

No time for appreciating their luck. Tim pushed Kon through the doorway, listening for the click of the automatic lock behind him. Secure for now -- and hopefully it would take some time for his pursuers to realize he had gone to ground. He had time to size up the space Kon had brought him--

And what space it was. The sterile light of the laboratories did not leave any shadows, which was just as well -- there was too much nightmarish in the room to leave any leeway for jumping at shadows. The specimen jars had far too many eyes for Tim to feel thoroughly comfortable turning his back on them, but it was the tanks that really disturbed. Person sized, one shattered beyond repair, another murky, cloudy with decomposing ... something. There was a sickly too sweet smell, overpowering even the heavy smell of formaldehyde, and more than one bullet hole in the lab’s white walls.

“Home sweet home,” Kon said, and Tim glanced at him sideways. The clone wasn’t looking at him, but at the murky tank. “Serl’s computer might still connect to the mainframe. Password was JH4eva, and man, did I used to tease her for that.”

Tim knew better than to question an opportunity. He got to work on the computer.

Serling’s computer was not updated to the latest security settings, and Tim was able to easily bypass the checks, get straight to the mainframe. Disabling the access port alarms was the work of a moment, and he took a moment’s encouragement from the fact that while CADMUS might have employed the greatest minds in genetics, their programming department was merely above average. “Security is tightest around two areas,” he said. “Kon, you know anything about this?”

Kon leaned in over the monitor Tim was looking at. “That’s the research staff living quarters. I dunno -- Donovan’s gone insane and put them under house arrest?”

Bizarre, but it meant less people they had to worry about. “And the other?”

“Donovan’s labs and the main production centre. That’s where we’re headed?”

“Evenutally. There’s something I need you to do first.”

“See, now I’m here you admit I’m useful.”

"If you can successfully pull this off and get yourself out of here, I will admit that you are moderately useful. Until then pay attention. This is a potent explosive. You are going to set three of these at intervals along your way out and if you're going to do it without blowing yourself or anybody else up, you will need to know how to activate these—"

Kon paid attention which was fortunate, because they didn’t have long at all before the clatter in the hall indicated they were found. Fortunately, Serling’s labs had the benefit of being connected to the main ventilation system.

“You know where you’re going?”

“Which one of us was raised in this lab? Pretty sure it was me. Catch you on the flipside, Draper.”

Tim rolled his eyes. Commenting would only encourage him. And then he didn’t have time to worry about Kon. The door to the lab had sounded suspiciously as though it had been ripped away, and the incendiary device Tim had improvised would only keep their pursuers so long.

He made his way towards Donovan’s lab as quickly as he could, listening to the sound of pursuit. Evidently the lab guards had also decided to abandon subtlety; the crashes behind him seemed to indicate that they didn’t care what damage occurred so long as they caught up with him. Tim just hoped that Kon had slipped their notice.

Finally -- Donovan’s lab. The two clones inside looked up startled as the door opened to admit no-one, glancing automatically down at the ball that rolled in. They realized their mistake too late to shield their eyes from the blinding explosion and Tim casually added another two to his tally, knocking them out and removing their weapons. He was so nervous as he keyed in the security code to override and lock the door that he had to consciously slow down and check his actions twice. He’d caught a glimpse of a very familiar shade of dark blue in the corner of his eye and he had to brace himself.

Taking a deep breath, Tim turned to find his brother.

Dick’s smirk was tired, but there. He was alive, he was worn, but he was _him._ “Sight for sore eyes.”

“Tell me about it,” Tim was sure that he would get flak from Bruce for taking time in a mission to stop and grin like an idiot, but the pressure had lifted in his chest and he was just so relieved. “You’re--”

“Intact. They’ve got telepathic monitoring but it doesn’t go beyond surface thought.” Now that Tim was actually freeing Dick from his restraints, a specimen tank, surface glass removed to make an impromptu holding cell, he could appreciate that he’d lost some weight, was paler than usual. “Real problem is the meta. Did you figure out a way to disarm him?”

Tim paused. “Meta--?”

The wrenching open of the door answered that question. Tim pressed his lock pick into Dick’s free hand, and drew his staff from his belt, taking up a defensive stance in the centre of the room. If nothing else, he could draw attention away from Dick long enough for the other to free himself.

Deliberately the door was forced back. The figure in the door took a moment to smile a satisfied, smug smile that Tim had come to know very well, before straightening, dusting his hands off as he raised his head, lazily considering the threat in front of him.

“Kon?”

Tim knew it was a mistake, even before the word registered on the face before him. Smugness gave way to immediate fury, a lunge that Tim was barely able to dodge and a grab that he didn’t.

Slammed into the wall, Tim brought up his taser, digging it into the stomach of his attacker. He had a brief moment of triumph as the meta snarled in pain, but that was short-lived as the hand not pinning Tim to the wall reached up and the next thing Tim heard was the crunch of metal.

Goodbye taser.

Tim took a deep breath to steady himself, bracing himself for whatever was coming next. This turned out to be the hand pinning him to the wall moving to his throat and pushing him up, so he hung, choking, as the meta lent in.

“How do you know that name?”

Voice was the same but the tone all different. Not just meaner -- there was a note in it that Tim had heard before and never wanted to hear again. He steeled himself as best as he could as the fingers pressed tighter against his neck.

“He’s here, isn’t he? You thought I was him.”

Concentrating past the burning in his throat, Tim swung his legs up, using the wall for purchase before swinging out. The kick didn’t even phase the meta, who simply tightened his hold.

“Tell me. Where is he? Tell me or I’ll kill you.”

“Spread out. Look for Experiment Thirteen.” Tim didn’t really have time to appreciate Donovan’s timing -- or much of him, actually. He was dropped so suddenly, that all he had time to appreciate was breathing and the fact that the meta’s attention was turned towards the portly man flanked by guards in the doorway.

“Thirteen is mine.”

It really didn’t do much for Tim’s peace of mind that all of the guards currently had their weapons trained on the meta. He stayed unmoving, gathering his breath, getting ready to move once it would not draw unwanted attention to himself. “Thirteen is property of the Project until I say otherwise. Stand down, Match.”

“You’re not in charge here. You don’t give me orders.” Match sauntered past the stun-guns tracking his movement with complete unconcern. “Worm.”

It wasn’t until he was out the door that Donovan collected himself. “No permanent damage. Match! Did you hear me? No permanent damage!” He glared and nodded, six of the Guards following after Match without another word.

The other two indicated with the muzzles of their guns that Tim should rise. He did so, cautiously.

Luckily, Donovan had more immediate concerns than Tim. “And there’s been no word from the Director?”

“Communicators are down. We’re working on them, but we’re none of us technicians. If perhaps you were able to come to some agreement with the staff--”

“I’ve given you orders--”

“Threatening civilians is not in line with our approved protocol.” The clones were identically dispassionate in the face of Donovan’s anger.

Dick laughed. “You’re in over your head. A mutinous human staff, a meta you can’t control and even the GUARDIAN isn’t helping.”

It seemed this was a familiar refrain, Donovan’s face darkened immediately. “Tie up the second one. There’s not a single G-Gnome in the place?”

Two of the Guard clones moved to do just as Donovan ordered. Tim tensed as he was led to a holding pod similar to Dick’s but he decided not to resist -- Dick still had the lock pick after all. In a situation this shifting and volatile they would undoubtedly find an opportunity--

A third guard answered Donovan’s question. “The staff were concerned for their safety.”

“Snivelling cowards wanted security for their own sorry behinds,” Donovan growled. “Well. Match won’t have any reservations about breaking down the barricades they’ve implemented -- or pulling the information out of our intruders directly.”

The guard who had answered didn’t appear impressed. “The meta-experiment is highly unstable. Loosing him at all was a risk.”

“He’ll follow orders--”

“Sure of that?” Dick raised an eyebrow. “He’s done so well on that front so far.”

Donovan glared, coming forward to stand in front of Dick and despite the two Guards holding him down, Tim tensed, ready to intervene anyway possible. But Donovan contented himself with a threat. “Once I know just who you are and why you’re here, you’re history. Your friend, too.”

There was a sudden clatter in the doorway, and Donovan smirked. “I think you’ll find your fears over my inability to control the meta fruitless,” he said smugly. “He’s returned -- and with company.”

Kon.

Tim strained at his restraints, trying to get a look at him. If he’d been hurt--

But Kon met his eyes and nodded with a casual indifference that did not match the situation. His eyes glanced to Tim’s hands with a flicker of worry before that was smoothed away into an air of nonchalance. “My bad. I’m always the last to arrive.”

Match gave him a shove forwards. “There’s no point to your meaningless drivel, Failure.” He took pleasure as Kon stumbled, and Tim frowned as it took a second for Kon to steady himself. Hurt then -- hurt and concealing it.

He leant back, weighing the facts and noticed Dick looking at him inquiringly. His older brother tilted his head.

Tim hesitated, wondering how to signal ‘gormless idiot who cannot listen to instructions.’ He reluctantly settled on the agreed upon sign for ‘ally,’ before pausing. One of the guards who had restrained him had casually shifted, moving in front of him. There might have been nothing in the movement -- a mere shifting of posture, but it meant that Donovan’s view of Tim’s hands were obscured.

Interesting.

“If I’d know you all were waiting, I wouldn’t have taken the long way round.”

Only two of the guards were watching Kon. The other six all had their weapons trained on Match. Tim watched closely. Kon was ignoring Match, talking to Donovan, but he was pretty sure that most of Kon’s attention was on the form at his back, circling shark-like.

Then again, Tim was pretty sure everyone was really focused on Match. Donovan might believe he was in charge, but in the powder keg-like situation of the room, Match was the charge that might go off at any second.

And Match liked it.

“Months, Failure. I’ve been in that tank for months.”

“Should have said something. I’m sure Dabs would have been happy to upgrade you to something more appropriate. Garbage compacter maybe--”

Tim’s holding pod rattled with force of Kon being thrown against the wall next to him.

“Match -- we need him alive until the staff can do the dissection properly -- there’s only one shot at this!”

Match didn’t take his eyes off Kon as the miner set a hand against Tim’s holding pod to steady himself. “You’re a geneticist. You do it.”

“But I--”

“You do it!”

Donovan came to an abrupt decision. “Guard them,” he ordered brusquely. “And before anyone in this room gets any funny ideas about protecting the Kid, I’d like to remind you all that he is responsible for your original’s death.” With a glare to make sure his words were heard, Donovan scurried from the room.

Tim kept his expression carefully blank, trying to assess the effect of the parting shot. It seemed that the Guards were too well-trained to react. Match on the other hand was plainly gloating, while Kon --

Focus. It would take time for Donovan to prepare another lab for the purposes of a dissection without assisting staff. One down -- nine to go and only one of them was an unstable meta-human --

“Sorry,” Kon said so quietly that Tim almost missed it. “I had a chance -- but it was Jim, you know? I couldn’t.”

It took Tim a moment to figure out what Kon meant. He’d been unable to fight the guards because of their resemblance to the friend he’d recently lost? Micky saw this coming. They all had. “That’s not something you need to apologize for. I -- shouldn’t have brought you with me.”

“Apologizing again? No surprises there.”

“Stay out of this, freak show.”

Kon straightened as Match marched over to him, but instead of slamming him into the wall again, the meta-clone stopped in front of him. With a snarl, he jerked Kon’s customary goggles from him. Kon glared back. Whatever Match was hoping to see in the identical blue eyes facing his wasn’t there, and he was obviously irritated.

“I am going to wring your scrawny little neck--”

“Not without Donovan’s permission you’re not. And even then -- you really think you can?” Kon held out one hand perfectly still, palm outstretched in front of him. There was challenge in his posture and Tim was confused, until he noticed that Match’s fists shook where they were curled at his side. More than that, there was an erraticness to his breathing, as if the meta had been exerting himself, not simply thrown his unpowered double across a room.

Of course. Match wasn’t a successful hybrid anymore than Kon had been. His powers were clearly out of sync with his body and the effort of using them was wreaking havoc on his body -- no wonder he had to be confined to a tank. Though -- and Tim’s glance drifted again to Kon’s scoffing expression -- was taunting him really the wisest option?

Of course it wasn’t. With a howl of something like pure anger, Match launched himself at Kon and the two of them went down in a tangle of limbs, insult and anger.

And as the guards immediately moved in to separate them, Tim had to admit that Kon could have provided no better opportunity for him to work on freeing himself. He was glad for Bruce’s paranoia that insisted on a lockpick in either glove, pretty sure that on the opposite side of the room, Dick was doing exactly the same.

By the time Match was being unsteadily supported back to his containment tank by three of the guards, and a fourth helping Kon sit up, Tim was out of his bonds. Dick didn’t seem to have moved, but when Tim glanced his way an all but imperceptible nod told him that he too was ready to move.

All that stopped them now was Kon.

“Kid, one of these days you’re going to push too far.”

“I know, I know. And Donovan will get the dissection he’s always dreamed of.” Kon was unsteady, but standing on his own power.

With a noise that sounded suspiciously like relief, the guard helping him stand shouldered his weapon, stepping back. “Donovan can wait.”

The clones shared enough of their model’s personality to share a feeling of camaraderie with Kon? Or was it simply prior acquaintance. Either way, this was something that could be put to good use--

“Donovan’s right, you know. It’s my fault Jim’s gone.”

As long as Kon stopped talking.

Tim hadn’t been around clones in these numbers before. Especially not ones that had lived and worked so closely together, and it was a little disconcerting to see the non-verbal communication ripple through them. They all shared a glance with the one who had replied to Donovan, and although Tim didn’t see the signal it must have been given. The guard who had helped Kon stand stepped back and their seeming leader stepped forward to place a hand on his shoulder, the other three forming a loose circle around them. Was this what his, Dick and Bruce’s communication looked like to outsiders?

“Kid, you know the Original didn’t think of you as a responsibility, or a duty, right? You were a friend.”

“Yeah, but--”

“He wouldn’t regret it. So we don’t.” The hand thumps Kon’s shoulder once and there is the sound of distant explosions. The guard pauses. “More friends? This isn’t going to turn into a reunion is it?”

Kon’s expression said so much that Tim decided that filling in the blanks wouldn’t hurt. “Parting gift. We can see ourselves out.”

There was a long moment that Tim thought he might have misjudged the situation, but instead the guard snorted. “Get out of here, Kid. Well, come on, boys. We have a party to attend.”

The Nightwing belt had been confiscated, but Donovan seemingly hadn’t been able to get far unlocking it. They waited for Dick to retrieve it in silence.

Well, mostly silence.

Kon started as the goggles Tim held out to him brushed the skin of his arm.

“You heard him. Don’t want to overstay our welcome.”

Kon’s eyes met his in in mixed surprise and appeal, and Tim wondered how he could have thought they were identical to Match’s cold, emotionless gaze. For a moment he thought Kon was going to say something but instead he replaced the goggles. “This way.”

Tim didn’t look at Dick but he could feel the question boring into the back of his neck as they walked.

It was a relief to reach the darkness of the caverns, feel that observation thwarted. Not only that, the effort of navigating uncertain terrain in mostly dark against the chance of pursuit meant that the journey was mostly made in silence. But even that relief became less and less palpable the closer they got to Tim’s ship.

“Finally! Rob, you’ve got no idea how happy I am to see the pea-shooter right now.”

They were Robin and Nightwing again, for Kon’s benefit if not his peace of mind -- he’d been watching Dick the same way Dick was watching him, both trying to weigh the other’s relationship with Tim. “It’s like I keep saying,” Tim replied, conscious of Kon coming to stand beside him as Nightwing drew back the camouflage tarp. “Economy in size is an advantage.”

Kon said nothing. Nightwing had activated the interior lights. The ship’s two seats were plainly visible.

Tim listened carefully for any intake of breath, shift in posture that might give him a clue to how Kon was taking this. “We’re not going to forget. The penal colony, the labs, they’re getting shut down.”

“So you say.”

Angry. Tim had known that. “I do say.”

“Yeah, well--” That movement of air was Kon’s hands raising and falling in the air, a repeat of the argument they’d had in Base. He was only thinking of the best way to hurt Tim, to make him feel as hurt and angry and abandoned as Kon did now. “Draper, or whatever your name is--”

“It’s not.” If he let Kon cast around, there was a possibility that he might hit on something that would serve his purpose, would hurt, would linger. Better to be efficient, eliminate that possibility now. “It’s not Robin either.” He reached out, finding Kon’s shoulders in the dark, and sliding his hands up to settle on Kon’s neck.

Kon wasn’t sure whether to be angrier or laugh. “You don’t think I’m going to forget.”

“I want you to remember.”

He enjoyed kissing Kon. He was pretty sure Kon was enjoying it too. His fingers gripped Tim’s arm tight enough to hurt, and Tim’s pretty sure that he likes that too. There’s something here, something a little more complicated than tongues, lips and the occasional scrape of teeth, complicated enough that it’s only belatedly that Tim realizes that it’s been sometime since he heard any movement from Dick.

Reluctantly he pulled back. Kon let him go, and Tim thinks -- hopes -- that he made his point clearly enough. “So don’t think we’re leaving you.”

Kon’s snort is so him that Tim is reassured. “Yeah. You’re just leaving.” He thumped Kon on the shoulder, and Kon’s fingers closed over his momentarily and then even that pressure is gone.

Nightwing’s taken the pilot seat despite it being Tim’s ship. “We are going to have such an interesting conversation on the way back to Gotham, I can tell,” he murmurs, and that’s all the confirmation Tim needs to know that yes, Dick saw.

“Later.” Tim is matter of fact, watching as the shadow that is Kon becomes indistinguishable from the other shadows. “You’ll want to hear my mission report first.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was where this story was originally going to end. Working on it, I realized there is more to come -- but that more is not as developed as these three chapters were so it will take me longer to work on it.


End file.
